


Worthy

by Watergirl1968



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Health Anxiety, Institutional Violence, M/M, Modern AU, Trans Character, Transphobia, age gap both 20+
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24096565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergirl1968/pseuds/Watergirl1968
Summary: Goodbye. Levi leaned against the brick wall of the bakery, looking up at their apartment, across the street. Took a breath. Reminded himself, again, that he was now out of Armin’s way. He wanted - needed - the melancholy peace that comes when a breakup feels right. Only peace was not to be had - this was not the parting of mismatched, casual lovers - it was an amputation.
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Levi
Comments: 46
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been away from writing for 16 months...this was due to both work and health issues. My normal routine over the past six years had been to write in 6-hour blocks, usually on a Sunday. That just hasn't been an option, although in the near future, it will be :).
> 
> This work began it's life as 'Thumb Story'. I realized I noodle around on my phone in bed each night for about half an hour. It occurred to me that I could instead write a couple of paragraphs per night on my phone with my thumbs. Perhaps even string together a few nights to tell a story. 
> 
> Once I got going, however, I realized I was trying to tell a fairly nuanced tale about the anatomy of an age-gap relationship...and that I probably needed more than just my thumbs to do it justice! So 'Thumb Story' became 'Worthy'...and here we are. A little Rivarmin to shake off the rust as I return to enjoying my friends and this fandom :)

**SUMMER 2017. PRESENT-DAY.**

Brown. Orange. Sunlight warms his closed eyelids. He inhales his first deliberate breath of the day: cooler and deeper than the soft in-out vapour of sleep.

Smells toast; relief washes over him like a balm. Toast. Levi is staying.

Eases his eyes open; the duffel bag sits at the foot of the bed, it’s open flap revealing a row of folded sock-soldiers, soft and precise.

Levi is going. He’s leaving methodically and tidily, quashing any notion that his decision is messy, desperate, and might be overturned.

Armin rolls over, slowly curling around the kick in his gut. He shuts his eyes against the prick of tears. Brown. Orange.


	2. Chapter 2

**SUMMER 2017. PRESENT-DAY.**

The toast is cut into crisp triangles. There is green tea, with honey and tumeric.

Armin’s eyes flick, incredulous, from the breakfast tray to Levi, who is dismantling their union with quiet, unhurried efficiency.

“We said,” Armin’s voice is deliberately level, “We said we would talk in the morning...” he sits upright, pulling the duvet against his aching middle. “It’s morning.”

“Drink your tea,” Levi stops packing and looks at Armin with hollow eyes, underscored by purple shadows. Armin has slept; he has not.

 _Drink your tea_. Armin tilts his head, frowning. Wills his expression not to dissolve into ugly panic.

“Let’s talk!”

Levi lifts the duffel bag off of the bed. Armin begins to tremble, as though the bag was the only thing anchoring his composure.

“There is nothing more to say,” Levi pushes his feet into black boots. And then, “I’ve called Eren to come over.”

He slips out of the bedroom, down the hall and closes the apartment door.

Triangles. Armin picks up a piece of toast, staring numbly at it until morning yawns into afternoon.


	3. Chapter 3

**SUMMER 2017. PRESENT-DAY.**

“Why did he go?” Eren is standing in the small kitchen, unpacking breakfast takeout.

Armin watches from his nest on the couch.

“I dunno,”

Eren turns, regarding his friend. He bounces a little on his running blade.

Armin blinks, trying to process the fact that Eren had been running when Levi had called him. Eren hadn’t said, “Ok, on my way shortly...just let me go home and swap legs...”

“Eren, did you...”

“Did I?....”

“Never mind. Nothing...”

Twenty-two and thirty-four. It was a big age gap. At least, it was once Levi had asked Armin if he’d want a family one day. If that day came when Armin was in his thirties...Levi would have been a new dad at fifty years old.

When Levi voiced this, it was as if someone had turned the cosmic dial just a hair to the right; tuning in a melancholic discontent, a tightness.

Everyday situations seemed to magnify this dissonance; hanging out with Armin’s friends for pizza and gaming...Eren stumping around cooking noodles and dancing...Sasha seeing how many cheezies she could wad into her cheeks...Jean smelling of patchouli, weed and trouble...and Levi tolerating all of this with quiet forbearance, slack-legs neatly crossed.

Levi called them, “Armin’s friends.” He did so with some graciousness, but there it was.

Perhaps there might have been a generational turnabout, if they’d socialized with Levi’s friends. But in their two years together, Levi hadn’t presented any.

Much of their time had been spent alone, and together; reading, walking, animated arguments, companionable silences...humid nights of Levi dismantling Armin in bed; bright mornings, sore and sated and safe.

“What do you mean, you don’t know why?” Eren presses gently, sensing the boil needing to be lanced.

“I mean,” Armin whispers, “that it was good...”

Eren sits, the couch dipping a little. Armin, feeling nearly safe for the first time in days, begins to cry.

“If something is whole, but delicate...fragile...you don’t dash it to the ground and then say...oh, look. See? I told you it would break...”


	4. Chapter 4

**SUMMER 2017. PRESENT-DAY.**

Levi had rehearsed the day in his mind; a scene of mutual resignation, pinched, tired faces and awkward, pain-laced silences punctuated by the tink-tink of stirring tea that nobody would drink. Melancholy and civilized.

But no. Armin had reacted with complete shock, dropping the tea tin and shaking so badly he couldn’t stuff the bags back inside.

“Why?”

Levi had gently nudged the conversation toward his departure.

“Wait - what?? No! Are you insane?” Armin had shouted, beginning to sob. “Levi, we always talk things over...we don’t just give up!”

“Armin, come and sit on the bed with me...”

He’d had to make Armin a promise, thin as ether, that they’d talk more in the morning.

Armin had gripped Levi’s hand like a vice, falling asleep as his body purged itself of adrenalin, uneven hiccups punctuating his sleep.

Levi sat, shaken to the core that he’d miscalculated so badly. He’d inflicted hurt, and it had been a sloppy, haphazard torture.

He lay down, embracing Armin from behind, face against the pale hair. Armin murmured, turning into the familiar embrace. Levi’s arms tightened.

“It’s okay,” Levi murmured, “you’re okay...”

In the morning, he’s made Armin toast and tea. The blue eyes had opened, seeking him...and then their light had changed, as though someone had slammed a window shut.

He’d taken his leave, placing his key into the seashell bowl by the door, with trembling fingers.

He’d strode across the street, waiting for the calm. Waiting for the tiniest spark of affirmation that he’d acted in the best interest of all.

He leaned against the brick wall of the bakery, looking up at the apartment. Took a breath. Reminded himself, again, that he was now out of Armin’s way. It was no good. It was not the leave-taking of a casual lover, it was an amputation.

He turned his cheek against the brick. A few feet from his nose was a wad of pink gum stuck to the wall.

Levi shut his eyes. Tears. “Shit...” He’d go back...Armin was right, they could talk. And then they could sleep.

Opened his eyes to see Eren Jaeger exiting the subway station, loping at a good pace, carrying a takeout bag. Ok good. Eren.

“Did you hit him?”

Levi jumped. Then slumped against the wall. She stood a few feet from him, silent as a ninja.

“Mikasa.” Then: “Of course not.”

“Did he hit you?”

“No!”

She moved a little closer, worn red scarf looped around her slender neck, against the chill.

“Did you abuse one another somehow?”

Levi shook his head.

Mikasa leaned toward him. “Then fix it!”


	5. Chapter 5

**LATE SUMMER 2015 - TWO YEARS BEFORE PRESENT DAY**

Dan-Dan Pang owned both Othello, a slouchy, low-key coffee lounge on the Danforth, and Pang, the upscale Malaysian restaurant beside it.

Othello was thrift-store cozy; it’s patisserie case was excellent however, and it’s barista dainty and frightening.

Pang was a sparse, modern study in black and white; servers in black tie floated like post-modern moths between the tables.

Levi sat in the front window of Othello, carefully sipping rooibos from a china cup, which he held by the rim. Out of the window, he watched the patio at Pang, next door, begin to fill up.

He turned his attention back to his notebook. He was distracted however, by something outside. A glint of bright hair, snarled into a rough bun and skewered with a chopstick.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Funny. The server with the pale hair darted back inside, out of sight.

Then, Annie was at his elbow. She placed a rustic tart onto the table, topped by a curl of sliced lemon, translucent.

“I don’t want that.”

“Ya, you do. The custard is beautiful...and it’s on the _tart_ side.”

Levi looked up at the barista. Fair, snide, with a tattooed sleeve of Norse Ragnarok.

“Are you trying to be ironic?”

Capitulating, he pressed his fork into the pastry. Annie retreated back behind her counter.

“Annabella!” a young voice, reedy and sweet.

“What?”

“Eren needs his thingy-bob back.”

Curiosity got the better of Levi. He glanced up. The young waiter with the chopstick bun was leaning on Annie’s counter.

“What?”

“You know,” the waiter made a hand-motion, “his slicer thing.”

Annie snorted, stacking biscotti in a kind of jenga under a glass dome.

The young waiter squirmed. “Annie...the slicer that makes the razor thin potato slices...the kitchen’s getting busy...”

“Mandoline,” supplied Levi.

The young waiter turned, face lighting up at the unexpected assist.

“Yes! Thank you! Exactly, Mr....”

“Ackerman.”

The waiter flung an arm at the corner table for Annie’s benefit. “Annie, as Mr. Ackerman has so _helpfully_ reminded me...may I please get Eren’s mandoline back?”

Wordlessly, Annie reached down, placing the slicer onto the counter.

“Yay!” a dimpled smile. Annie seemed entirely impervious to the waiter’s charm offensive.

“You wouldn’t have three or four lemons going begging, would you?”

The waiter leaned over, “and a roll of quarters?”

“Armin!” Annie growled, but obliged.

She leaned over the counter, bumping her forehead gently against the waiter’s.

“You’re such a bitch to me,” he snickered.

“You’re the bitch, little boy.”

“See you after shift.”

The waiter turned then, flashing a triumphant grin at Levi before sashaying back through the rear door, connecting Othello and Pang.

“Nice tart,” said Levi to no one in particular.


	6. Chapter 6

**LATE SUMMER 2015 - TWO YEARS BEFORE PRESENT DAY**

“Theatre crowd’s coming,” Annie remarked from behind the counter.

Levi’s head jerked up from his laptop. Outside of Othello, faux gaslight illuminated the evening dim. He had lost all track of time as he worked. “Shit…”

“Just fair warning,” Annie was stacking cups and saucers in anticipation.

Levi grimaced.

“Go have dinner next door?” Annie suggested.

Levi packed up his notes. He considered the half-eaten container of Pho in his fridge, waiting for him in silence. “Maybe I will,” he left the coffee shop and wandered next door to Pang.

Pang was at full, elegant simmer: hiss and clatter from Eren’s kitchen, the burbling rise and fall of conversation, Malaysian music and soft lighting.

Dan-Dan Pang greeted his guests at the door. “Ah, Levi,” he nodded. “Annie dislodged you from next door?”

“Yes,” Levi looked around. Behind the frosted privacy wall lay the open kitchen. And bumping happily along behind it, a blond knob of hair. His chest lifted a little.

He was shown to a table against a restored brick wall, hung with local artwork; acrylic portraits of dairy cows.

His server turned out to be a large, gangly fellow called Bert. It was only Bert’s second shift. His last job had been at Burger Rodeo, he explained to Levi. Not upscale dining, like Pang. He shook a little when attempting to arrange the tiny plates of sauces and satay in front of Levi.

“Steady on,” Levi encouraged him, feeling indulgent, “you will pick up the rhythm…”

He was looking not at Burt, hovering like a paternal penguin, but at Armin. Armin glided smoothly between his tables, posture rod-straight, discreet and efficient. He said something amusing to a table of four middle-aged women; two of them clucked and ruffled, pleased as punch that such a cutie should flirt with them.

The corner of Levi’s mouth quirked in amusement. Armin was good.

His phone buzzed. He looked down, thumbing through the messages. Frowned. When he looked up, Armin was in front of him.

“Good evening Mr. Ackerman,” he said softly. He placed a dessert plate in front of Levi.

“Bittersweet chocolate flourless cake,” Armin told him, “raspberry mousse, and….” he lit the little burner on the table, “warm sake.”

“Huh,” said Levi.

“It’s from Annie,” Armin explained. “She told me you’d say that you don’t want it,” the warm blue eyes sought out Levi’s.

“I don’t,” Levi replied.

Armin placed two tiny sake cups onto the table. He lifted the carafe, pouring two shots. “Also, this…” he said. “Annie asked that you - that we - toast her health…and that you’d know what I mean…”

Levi nodded slowly, not breaking the young man’s gaze. “That, I very much do want,” he said quietly, accepting the cup. Armin cast a quick glance over his shoulder; his boss seemed occupied at another table.

He turned back to Levi. “Alright then,” he said, “to Annie….”

“To Annie….”

Levi swallowed, the sake’s warmth blossoming inside of him, unfurling something.

“Armin,” he said for the first time, trying out the sound.


	7. Chapter 7

**LATE SUMMER 2015 - TWO YEARS BEFORE PRESENT DAY**

“Are you soft on him or something?” Armin had asked Annie.

Annie’s answer had come in the form of a long, measured stare.

“Well,” Armin had leaned against the doorframe which separated the patisserie from the dining room.

Mikasa had tried to squeeze past him, heading into the patisserie to fetch cheesecake slices for her table of four. “Armin, move!”

Armin slid around the corner, closer to Annie. “If you’re not soft on him, why d’you want me to give him cake? And sake?”

“He’s my friend,” Annie had said simply. “You’re my friend. I don’t have many. And I would like it if two of my friends were thinking kindly of me for a moment. Together. Tomorrow is a big day for me…”

“I know,” said Armin.

Mr. Ackerman had deep, grey eyes under fine, arched brows, black as crows’ wings. Armin ran the tip of his finger between his own substantial blond brows. “Annie, can you see hair between my eyebrows? Because I can feel fuzz…but can you see it?”

“You look like a Cyclops,” Annie had turned away then, glancing down at the next day’s cake order.

The next day was heavy and bright; the kind of late summer day that saturated the front windowpanes of the patisserie with colour.

Armin was covering Annie’s shift at Othello while she attended her appointment. He’d propped the door open, and the heady breeze brought in street sounds.

He’d pulled his hair into a smooth ponytail and put on a clean black tee. He waited.

He served a handful of tables; boxed up some cake slices for a rounded girl with lipstick the colour of a robin’s egg.

He wandered next door to see if Eren had any walnuts to top the feature dessert, rustic maple cream mini-galettes.

He came back with the bag of walnuts to discover Mr. Ackerman sitting at his coffee counter, legs neatly crossed.

“Mr. Ackerman!” Armin greeted him brightly.

The man didn’t look up; he studied the newspaper crossword in front of him through wire-rimmed reading glasses.

“Levi,” he said quietly.

Armin skirted the counter. He swallowed, pressing his lips together. Then, “How can I help?”

“You can turn on the football for a start,” said Levi. “Everton and Newcastle kick off at one.”

“Sure…”

“And a double espresso please, neat. What’s that?”

“Oh! Canadian maple cream mini galettes…now with walnuts!” Armin held up the bag. “At least, with walnuts in a moment…”

Levi carefully pushed his reading glasses up his aquiline nose. “Thank you, one of those.”

Levi's shirt collar was open to catch any stray breezes; Armin detected the faint, warm whiff of sunscreen. It made him a little nostalgic, and his belly tightened.

Levi continued to read his paper. Armin prepared his espresso.

Armin retreated a little, allowing Levi to enjoy the patisserie’s calm.

He opened his mouth, then shut it. “So…not working today?”

Levi looked up at the young server. Frowned. “No. I have today free. I am enjoying myself.”

Armin raised an eyebrow. “Ay, well you might want to tell your face that…”

This seemed to amuse Levi.

He favoured Armin with a glance over his spectacles, eyes bright.

Armin turned away, busying himself with toasting the walnut garnish. He was finding Levi Ackerman’s company very satisfying.


	8. Chapter 8

**LATE SUMMER 2015 - TWO YEARS BEFORE PRESENT DAY**

The late afternoon sun cast long purple shadows over the patio at Pang. Mikasa moved about outside, lighting box lanterns on the tables. She looked through the open door, into Othello, at Armin.

“Aren’t you working dinner shift here?” she mouthed.

Armin shrugged. Annie was late in returning. He’d texted her, but had not received a response.

“She’ll be here soon,” Levi Ackerman still occupied his seat at the counter, sipping on hot rooibos.

Armin studied Levi for a moment. It seemed odd to share such a pressing and intimate concern with a stranger.

“How d’you know Annie then?” he asked.

Levi looked up, and into Armin’s eyes. Saw that his answer might ease Armin’s concern.

“From support group,” he said quietly.

“From….oh.” Armin leaned on the counter. He could smell the warmth of Levi’s skin again, and it buoyed him somehow.

“You mean, from… _group_ group?

“From our cancer support group. Yes. I have known her for almost two years, now. She’s tough. But she’s smart, too. She knows how to leverage help. She’ll be okay. She’s probably just walking…”

Armin lifted a tray of box lanterns onto the counter. He lit them, then walked around the patisserie, placing one onto each table. He plugged in the fairy lights around the pastry case. From the open door, he glanced back at the dark-haired man watching the late afternoon football match.

He wandered back, hoisting himself onto the stool beside Levi. “So…I’m not meaning to be forward…you had cancer, too?”

“I had a tumour. In my kidney. It’s gone now, and I’ve been in remission for four years.”

Armin scooched closer. “Your tumour’s gone? Or your kidney’s gone?”

This made Levi laugh aloud. “You’re a piece of work,” his eyes danced. Then: “How do you know Annie?”

“Oh,” Armin reached over the counter, pulling his own tea closer. “Her mum and my mum are friends, from back home. They both go to the Caledonia Club here. So I’ve known her since we were very little.”

“Home?” Levi turned slightly, facing Armin. His knee touched Armin’s leg, but he seemed not to notice.

“Glasgow,” Armin said. “We left when I was nine. My mum - well, she’s really my adoptive mum, Joan - and me.”

Levi took off his reading glasses, laying them on his paper. “That explains a lot of things,” he smiled.

“What things?”

“Your vernacular, for a start,” he said, “and your cheek.”

Armin snorted. “So I’m cheeky?”

“You are a brat. But I see that you’re conscientious as well. And kind.” Levi leaned a little closer, “You get away with your fair share though, don’t you?”

“That depends,” Armin said softly. His body thrummed pleasantly; he found the older man’s attention arousing.

“…..Hello?” Annie stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. “Hello? I said your bloody name three times, you little arsehole!”

Armin swivelled around, sloshing tea onto the floor. “Ay! Annie!”

“It’s fine,” she flapped a hand at him. And burst into tears. “It’s fine, I’m fine for now, knock on wood…one year, cancer free!” She covered her mouth with her hand. Then, both Armin and Levi were embracing her.

“Jayzus, stop it,” she sniffled, hugging them harder.

“One day at a time,” Levi said softly. He kissed her cheek. Then, as it seemed to suit the moment, he leaned over and kissed Armin’s as well.


	9. Chapter 9

**EARLY DECEMBER 2015 - NEARLY TWO YEARS BEFORE PRESENT DAY**

They argue about when their first kiss was. Armin thinks it was in a hospital parking lot.

Levi thinks - he knows - it was coming home after a night at the Caledonian Soccer Club, in a deep door well about half a block from Levi’s apartment.

It was, in his mind, the first real kiss, because it was the first time two minds had been of one accord, no hesitation, no skirting the flame. Armin had pressed against him in the dark doorway, hungry and horny and smelling like Guinness and snow.

Levi’s hands had slid around, firmly gripping Armin’s taut ass through his jeans, discovering it to be much rounder than he’d realized.

So round, so sweet...Levi had closed the cool gap between their bodies, rubbing his groin against Armin’s and demanding access to Armin’s mouth with lips and tongue.

Armin had just moaned, voicing a need which came from some torn place inside; it had caused Levi to murmur soothingly, comfortingly, as he cupped the boy’s bulging groin, palming him slowly.

Armin had pressed himself into Levi’s hand, unravelling so that the kiss became wet and messy; accidental teeth clicking and breathy breaks until Armin’s legs had buckled, he’d leaned into Levi’s solid shoulder and allowed the strong fingers to stroke him to orgasm.

Levi had kissed him throughout, enraptured by Armin’s graceless, gorgeous lust, needing lip contact as each spasm dampened the denim, melding them together. He’d finished off with one whisper soft scrape of his lips against Armin’s; tethering the boy to him, body and soul.


	10. Chapter 10

**AUTUMN 2015 - TWO YEARS BEFORE PRESENT DAY**

Before the ‘first kiss’ - as Levi saw things anyway - before the heated fumble in the door well that broke something open within Armin, there was autumn.

Crisp, blue halcyon days…harvest festival on the Danforth, tastings at Pang. Autumnal goodies in Othello, devised by Annie…pumpkin spice biscotti, zucchini chocolate cake, walnut-crusted goat cheese bites.

Levi came by the patisserie Tuesdays, Wednesdays and most of the day each Saturday. Saturdays were Armin’s favourite; he’d turn on Italian Serie A soccer for Levi and suffer through the diving and wailing for a couple hours before English or Scottish Premier League. Their debates over the merits of the divergent styles of play sometimes grew loud enough to garner some raised eyebrows from the writers, students and hipsters sipping away in front of steamed windows.

The exchanges usually ended in the same manner:

“I’m right,” Armin would tartly declare.

“So you are,” Levi would say softly.

It soon became clear - at least from Armin’s perspective - that when Levi said, “So you are,” he really meant something entirely different; for it was delivered with a soft, heated gaze that caused the patisserie to blur and recede, until there was only Levi, gripping his teacup like a mantis and favouring Armin with a rare smile.

Levi spent one lazy Saturday at the counter, with his nose in the Toronto Star Premier crossword. Armin was busy serving - he and Annie had come up with a flight of warmed ciders as a weekend fall tasting.

As dinnertime approached and the afternoon crowd thinned, Levi finally laid is puzzle down and took himself off to the facilities.

Armin spooned a fluffy layer of foam onto a cappuccino. He topped it with chocolate, and with a few deft strokes of a toothpick, rendered a cat face into the foam. This earned him a happy squeal from the girl he served it to - he’d observed the cat-patterned boots she wore to anchor striped stockings.

Returning to his counter, he spared a glance for Levi’s paper. Armin fancied himself to be fairly good at puzzles; he thought if he could fill in a blank, it might give Levi a chance to appreciate his wit. He perused the puzzle, frowned, and then let out a squawk of delight. The puzzle was impressively filled, but not with the answers to the prompt clues; rather, Levi had fashioned his own web of words - every permutation of profanity, slang, sexual jargon and scatalogical references that he could weave together.

Armin’s eyes widened with delight. He snickered. Bit his lip.

“Pretty good, eh?” Levi was at his elbow. Armin did not look up; he continued to study the filthy word puzzle.

“That is my art,” Levi said seriously, resuming his seat and sipping his tea.

“This is fucking epic,” Armin shook his head. He pointed to a term. “What’s this mean? I don’t even know what this is…”

Levi leaned over, pushing aside a blond tendril and whispering something into Armin’s ear. Armin gawped at him. Blinked.

“Has anyone ever done that to you?” Levi asked.

“Um…No!”

“Well, they should.”

With that, Levi Ackerman stood and put on his jacket. “May I have my paper?”

“Hell, no,” breathed Armin. “I’m keeping this!”

Levi nodded. “So you are.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flagging this chapter for a description of managed anxiety.

**1998, GLASGOW, SCOTLAND**

“Joan Currie,” she said into the phone. “Joan Currie calling for Aine Grewall. Yes, I’ll hold...”

Late September rain pittered against the windows of the row house. Joan gazed out of the kitchen window at a ginger cat in the car park, bobbing and weaving in an effort to avoid the raindrops.

“Joanie,” Aine came on the line.

Joan exhaled. “Aine. Did the packet come?”

“It did," A pause. "But it isn’t binding Joan…it’s okay to just put a pin in this whole busines for now…given everything.”

“No pins,” Joan poured water from the kettle into her mug. “I want to proceed.”

It wasn’t the answer Aine was expecting to hear. “Oh, Joan…”

“No, I mean it,” Joan fished the teabag out of her mug and plunked it into the sink. “I’ve had a long think, and I want to move forward.”

Aine began to speak, then stopped. “Aye. Well, you’d better come in then. Can you come at two-ish?”

“Yes, that’s good.” Joan put the phone down. She picked up the warm mug in both hands, staring at the fridge. Staring back at her, a photo of her late husband Gordy, fishing in the sound.

“This isn’t about you,” she told him tartly. “and yes, I know I’m forty-one, thank you very much.”

With that, Joan shrugged into her raincoat, shouldered her bag and headed out the door.

St. Francis Community Centre in Cumberland Street was housed within a former church. Here, foster children participated in day groups and other activities. At the south end was the small office that Glasgow Foster Services used when onsite.

Joan found Aine Grewall in the office, one ear jammed into the telephone. Her hand was on the head of a small girl of about four, who was angling to escape back to the play group. "Wait just a minute, Moira..." Aine told the little girl.

She rolled her eyes, nodding to Joan. Joan removed her raincoat, revealing a tired, lime-green sweater beneath it.

Aine finished her call, handed Moira over to one of the nursery teachers, then sat down at her desk.

“Joan. Tea?”

“I’ve just had some, thanks.”

Aine took a breath, interlacing her tidy fingers. “Joanie…”

“Don’t.”

“I will though. I have to. Gordy’s only been gone two years. That’s barely time to sort yourself out. This little boy…”

“Armin,” Joan said quietly. “His name is Armin. We can stop calling him, ‘this little boy’.”

Aine sighed, pushing a manila folder across the desk toward Joan. It was as thick as her thumb.

“Joan, he’s had four foster placements. He’s only five…”

It broke Joan’s heart. “I know that. Better than anyone, I know that.”

Aine opened the folder, thumbing through the content. “You’ve written half of these evaluations yourself. Testing, re-testing, cognitive therapy. This wee boy is already presenting with bipolar disorder. At five.”

“I did not write _that_ ,” Joan said brusquely. “That is not my assessment. Stan wrote _that_. It’s Stan’s assessment. Armin is not bipolar, he’s battling anxiety. He is naturally buoyant, and then he plummets. It's not the same thing. He needs a foster family that will see him for himself, and not as a challenge, or a puzzle. He is a smart, loveable and empathetic child."

Aine tried one last time. "Oh, don't you think I want him placed? Of course I do. It's just...I’m speaking as your friend here. You’re a widow in your forties and frankly you are looking at a very long, very tough road if you do this…”

“Just let me sign the transfer,” Joan said quietly. “I know you’re already green lighted it. How soon?”

Aine studied her friend; the square, open face, short brown hair gone over with a curling iron. And Joan’s signature lipstick, which she wore as a nod to a bygone era, mashed perfunctorily over her thin lips.

“Tonight.”

Joan shut her eyes and smiled. _Praise Saint Anthony._

“Aine,” she said charitably, having won her battle, “I know you are only trying to look out for me. We’ve…”

Her words were curtailed by a loud, angry shriek. This was followed by another, then a growl, and sobs.

Joan and Aine rushed out into the nave of the church. In a cordoned-off section, preschoolers were riding tiny trikes, playing and rolling on large vinyl mats.

Standing beside a bin of plastic toys was a small, red-faced child in a pale blue sweater. He was flinging toys out of the bin, each toss punctuated by a scream. Two nursery teachers were calling his name gently, from a distance.

“Armin…..Armin….”

“I…no!!!” he roared, eyes full of tears and nose running.

Joan recognized the technique; the theory was that, in some cases, restraint only served to escalate the child’s episode and feelings of helplessness. Armin was not one of those cases; in fact, Joan knew he badly needed human contact during his fits. His small arms wrapped around his middle, fists balling against his ribcage, in a babyish attempt to steady himself. He trembled with dread. This was not a performative display, but an attempt to contain a torrent.

“Right,” Joan said. She strode past the two teachers, speaking sharply. “Armin! Can you see me?”

The little boy’s chest heaved.

“Armin darling, can you see me?” she repeated. He looked up, paused for a beat. “J-Joanie!”

“Okay,” She got down on her knees behind him, holding his wrist. “Your arm goes across your chest,” she said calmly. “Now your other arm crosses the first. Now, comes my nice fat arm, then my other arm.” She pulled him snugly against her.

“Big breath,” she pulled air into her nose, demonstrating.

“Joanie…” he hiccupped.

“Breathe,” she said against the pale head. He did, to her intense relief. In and out. 

“Armin, look at the doggy. See the doggy outside?”

“Yes.”

“Is he big or little?”

Armin took a few shaky breaths, sagging against her. “Little.”

“And why d’you think he has his coat on?”

“It’s raining.”

“Yes, it’s raining.”

“It’s raining,” Armin began to rock, soothing himself. “It’s raining, and there’s a little dog, with a little coat…”

Joan fished a tissue out of her sweater, wiping Armin’s nose. “Blow.”

He rested his head on her shoulder.

“What now?” he asked.

She rose, lifting him into her arms and holding him fiercely tight. “Now, you and I are going home…”

___________________

**AUTUMN 2015, A FEW WEEKS INTO ARMIN’S FRIENDSHIP WITH LEVI**

Armin woke to the smell of fresh-cut grass, and vinegar. He rolled over, trying to ease a pain in his leg. The motion brought no relief. He had a bit of a headache. He opened his eyes, sitting up slowly. Why did he have a pain in his calf? What was this headache from? Was it the new medication? Why the _fuck_ was it so bright outside?

He took a breath. Touched a hand to his side. He could hear the beat of his own heart in his ears. Why was that happening? _What was the pain from?_ A blood clot? He looked around at his bedroom, apprehension building.

Last night at Pang, for what seemed like the hundredth time, Bertie Hoover had toppled his serving tray onto the floor. It had been especially messy; creme brulée and Irish coffees. Armin had blinked, watching Bertie fold himself down small enough to reach the floor. And he’d felt absolutely nothing. Not pity, not empathy, not annoyance. Nothing. _That guy is the opposite of a Hoover,_ he'd thought.

Levi hadn’t come in to the patisserie for a week. Annie had been unable to shed any light on his whereabouts. At first, Armin had felt a keen anticipation each day, waiting for the dark-haired man to visit. He'd even placed a 'Reserved' sign at Levi's place at the counter. When Levi failed to materialize, anticipation had given way to a tight irritation within his chest cavity, as though it contained a grain of sand that needed smoothing into a pearl. Then, he’d deflated, having decided that Levi had somehow figured out that he, Armin, was a jumbled bundle of nerves and zapping crossed wires. And then…he'd just gone numb.

He eased himself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. In the bathroom was Joan’s flower-printed housecoat. Armin pulled it on, staring at his reflection. Sighed. Went downstairs.

“What time d’you call this?” Joan stood on the back deck, spraying it vigorously with gardener’s vinegar.

“Mum,” Armin screwed up his face, “It stinks.”

“It’s the only thing that keeps the raccoons at bay.”

Armin retreated back into the kitchen, poured himself a mug of coffee and sat staring into it.

Joan came inside, pulling off her Tilley hat and sitting at the table.

“I’m out of sorts, mum.” Armin said quietly.

Joan nodded. “I know, love.”

“Everything was so _good_ …” he spooned some sugar into the coffee.

“And now?”

“I dunno. Back to routinely freaking out over nothing. Angry, and then just numb. Racing thoughts...mum, do guys my age get blood clots? Why am I going off the rails again?”

“You aren’t off the rails,” Joan said gently. “You’re just switching trains.”

Armin dropped his forehead onto his crossed arms. “But why?” his voice was muffled. “I’m so tired…”

“It’s only been two weeks…the meds take six to start evening things out. At least that."

"We said I wasn't chemically-dependent."

"I don't think you are," Joan caressed his head. The blond hair was so long, she'd a mind to take the shears to it. "But you've missed two appointments with Pieck Finger, and you've not done the new exercises she gave you..."

He raised his head. “Mum, do I have sociopathic tendencies?”

Joan shook her head but replied patiently, “No, sweetheart.”

“Because the last few days, I don’t feel _anything_. For anyone. And I googled it…”

“No more googling.”

"But..."

"NO googling..."

“What you cope with,” she laid both hands on her son’s forearm, “is a form of escalation anxiety that you have managed very well. You also have a very noir sense of humour and occasionally terrible social timing. That does not make you a sociopath, it makes you odd."

Armin snorted, managing a weak smile.

"You are also witty, resourceful, a fantastic friend, and cute as a button.”

“So you're sure I’m not clinically sociopathic?”

“Professionally speaking, yes, I am absolutely sure.” she paused. “Did you want me to call Dr. Finger?”

“I already called her.” he sighed, resigned. “Fuck.”

Joan stood up.

“No, mum,” Armin said irritably. “Don’t do the thing.” A heartbeat. “Yeah, okay, please do the thing…”

Joan took the arms of her grown son, placing them across his body. Then she leaned over, embracing him. “I’ve got you. What do you see?”

“My coffee. The sugar..”

“And?”

“Scones. Taffy’s cat toy…”

“How old is Taffy now?”

“Eight…no, nine…”

He dropped his head back, against her torso. “Nine.” He relaxed. “Taffy is nine...he loves to play…there are scones…”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will note the addition of a health anxiety tag. Managing anxiety is a thing for Armin in this fic...as it is for a great many of us irl. I want to share that anxiety is part of my life, but it doesn't define me. I seek help when I need it, and the years have brought me joy, relationships, creativity, food in the fridge and a roof over my head despite it. I say this in case anybody with anxiety needs to hear that a great life is waiting! We know that, canonically, Armin is a fighter. And he is in this fic as well. So proceed as you will, but remember - the theme here with regard to anxiety...is hope :)

**NOVEMBER 2015. LEVI AND ARMIN BEGIN TO DATE.**

The coffee counter at Othello was full. A Toronto Food Tour was making a stop, sampling Malaysian fruit rolls and espresso. Dan-Dan Pang was behind the counter, explaining the fair trade coffee varieties that Othello offered. He made a joke, and was rewarded by a smattering of titters from the sandals-and-socks tour group.

Levi, relegated to his table by the window, waited anxiously for Armin. He hadn’t been able to visit the patisserie all week, and found himself beset with equal parts tension, curiosity and arousal, as though he’d ingested spoiled milk and Spanish Fly. All he could think of was Armin Arlert.

It was just past noon, when Levi spied Armin crossing Danforth Avenue, heading toward Othello. He was limping a little.

Armin opened the door, noting Levi. His backpack slid down his arm to thump on the wooden floor. He wore a striped scarf from Caledonia Football Club.

“Levi,” he said. Then, “Is everything okay?”

“It is.”

“Only you haven’t been here in days…” It fell out of Armin’s mouth before he could stop it, verging on plaintive. He cringed.

Levi, however, smiled. “You missed me.”

There seemed little point in denying it. Armin said nothing.

“I missed you, too," Levi continued. "A friend of mine has moved. I’ve been helping her settle in.”

 _Her_ , Armin registered immediately. _Good._

“Now I ask _you_ ,” Levi leaned forward a little, “is everything okay? Forgive me, but you look a little tired…”

“I do?” the blue eyes widened in alarm. “Do I look different? Unwell?”

When Levi did not offer comment, Armin took a few shallow, rapid breaths.

“Hey,” Levi reached out, capturing Armin’s balled fist in his hand. “What is it?” he asked gently.

“Something and nothing,” Armin said quietly.

“Why don’t we chat after your shift? Catch up?”

Armin’s eyes darted, furtive. “Maybe? I…might have to go somewhere…” He relaxed his hand, allowing his fingers to interlace with Levi’s.

“I am right here,” Levi said gently. "And I might be induced to stay if someone can be bothered to bring me a rooibos tea.”

__________

Armin made his way through the narrow patisserie, swimming upstream just as the tour group was leaving.

“Armin,” Dan-Dan nodded to him. “Front door? You’re knocking my customers over.”

“Sorry Dan,” Armin apologized.

Dan-Dan took himself off through the adjoining door to Pang, to discuss the dinner specials with Eren.

Annie, leaning on the counter, greeted Armin. “Barf,” she rolled her eyes.

“What?”

“C’mon. Barf! The two of you…”

“Shut up,” Armin skirted the counter, shoving his backpack beneath it and reaching for his apron. He turned on the bar sink tap, washing his hands.

“Not barf,” he replied defensively.

“You are soooo red,” Annie snickered. “You guys are so gross. Just fuck already.”

“Annie!”

__________

Levi had despised himself for about two weeks, until it had become boring. He wanted Armin. He wanted Armin, and Armin was a twenty-two-year-old man-child; sweet and ripe and hiding a complex vulnerability beneath a sharp wit and Glasgow cheek.

Levi had shifted his lust from left to right; tried to shake it off, tried to shred it with miles-long runs, willed himself to masturbate to a well-used litany of fantasies which hadn’t included Armin, until it had…

He’d invited the lust upstairs into his mind, turning it over like a too-hot bite of food, examining it. Was it Armin he wanted, or simply the promise of youth, rubbing up against him in the middle of the night?

Levi snorted irritably, crossing his arms.

He bent his head to his laptop, pecking at the keys and sipping his tea.

A young man entered the patisserie then - tall, very nicely turned out, with curly brown hair. Like Charlee’s. He wore a well-cut wool coat and carried a cello, in a case.

“Excuse me, my apologies,” he had a thick accent, Parisian french, not Quebeçois.

“ _Bienvenue_ ,” Armin greeted him.

“I’m so sorry, is there a place my cello can rest for some time?”

 _Charming,_ thought Levi.

“Oh,” Armin rounded the counter. “I can put it in the coat room? I’ll be careful with it…”

The young man nodded. “Merci…”

He sat, smoothing his jacket, and ordered an espresso and a gruyere with ham melt.

Levi observed him discreetly. Now, here was a beautiful specimen of a man. This was the sort of young man that caused traffic accidents; sandy hair, violet eyes, long lashes, full lips.

If indeed, his cock had become a twink-seeking missile, this young musician would surely stir things up.

The young man took out his phone. “Excusez-moi,” he asked Armin, “Wifi?”

“Pistachio,” Levi supplied the password.

The man frowned…”Piss…?”

Levi rose, showing his phone to the cellist. “Oh la! Pistachio. Like the nuts.”

Levi sat back down, opened a few text messages and began tapping away. Glanced up at the coffee counter. Considered moving to his now-vacant stool. Eren had come in with a basket, and was speaking to Annie and Armin. He left the basket on the counter.

The young musician was appraising Levi now, very pointedly.

Levi watched an exchange between Annie and Armin. They pushed the basket back and forth, Armin finally ending up with it, like a hot potato. Armin reached his hand inside, pulling out a few walnuts and a nutcracker. Annie had chalk, and was writing out the dinner special for Pang on the sandwich board.

_Butternut squash ravioli, gorgonzola, hand-cracked walnuts, cream._

Armin began hand-cracking said walnuts, with a great deal difficulty. His tongue poked out of one corner of his mouth. Having some success, he emptied the walnut meat into a bowl with a tiny pick.

Levi considered Armin. He had moments of polish and poise, such as when he served dinner at Pang, but for the most part he was quirky, awkward, thrown-together and given to fits.

Armin squeezed on the nutcracker and the walnut shot out of it, smacking him square in the face. “Fuck!” he squawked. Levi laughed.

Eren came back through the connecting doorway, and Armin lobbed a walnut at him. “No,” he barked, “I can't do it. I’m not hand-cracking five pounds of walnuts!”

“You can’t crack nuts?” Eren snickered.

Armin chucked another walnut at his friend. “No, genius! Okay? I can’t. The first one took me ten minutes!”

Eren held both hands in mock surrender. “Okay! Okay!”

He retreated back to the kitchen. Armin stomped over to the sandwich board, erasing the words “hand-cracked” and scribbling “toasted”.

“May I…" a voice brought Levi out of his musings, "May I possibly buy you another tea?” the young musician with the bedroom eyes was regarding him.

Levi smiled politely, touching his baby finger to indicate he had a partner.

“Ah,” the man nodded. “Of course, pardon the intrusion.”

Eren peered through the back door again, to see if Armin had reconsidered. Armin picked up a handful of walnuts, eyeing the chef menacingly.

Levi smiled, realizing that his desire was indeed for Armin, and for Armin alone. And it wasn’t just simple lust; rather, it was a friendship that had caught fire and embedded itself in his bones.

__________

Armin’s shift finished at seven p.m. He’d spent that last hour watching the clock, fighting panic and trying to decide if the horrible burning in his calf was actually inching up above his knee. He’d nearly told Annie what was going on, but then she’d only have rung Maudie, her mother, who in turn would have telephoned Joan.

Armin had promised himself that he would try not to alarm Joan constantly…he would call her if there was really something wrong…unbidden, his mind flashed to a scene of himself, sprawled alone on a subway platform, twitching and clutching his phone.

Six fifty-seven…six fifty-eight…seven!

Armin collected his backpack, checking for his wallet and his health card. His phone was fully charged. He said goodnight to Annie, and walked outside.

A shadow disconnected itself from the wall. Levi.

“Hey there,” Levi said.

“Hi,” Armin said breathlessly. “I can’t stop…I mean, I have to go…”

Levi fell into stride beside Armin. “Tell me what’s the matter…”

Armin flapped a hand, considering whether he should take the subway or a taxi to the hospital. “I just…”

Levi stood in front of him, holding him by both shoulders. “Whatever it is,” he said calmly, “I am going to help you with it. Now what’s going on?”

Armin stared past Levi, at a point of light across the street. Tried a long, slow breath. Another. “I don’t know if you want to know this part of me...”

Levi tilted is head, looking into Armin’s eyes.

“Well,” Armin began. “I’m going to the hospital. I think I have a blood clot. But in actuality, I probably don’t. I have difficulty handling anxiety around my health. Sometimes, I feel fantastic. Other times I crash. Not often…but when I do, I get like _this_ …” he trailed off, lifting his sore leg tentatively.

“Okay,” said Levi equably.

Armin let out a shaky sigh. “I’m freaked out,” he said. “I don’t think this is an idiom - that’s an unsubstantiated pain - this really hurts, and it’s bruised and red…”

“I know what an idiom is.”

“Do you think I have a blood clot?”

Levi flagged a cab. “I think you need some care. I’m coming with you.”

“Okay. Oh, good. Good. Thank you.”

“I know a little bit about hospitals,” said Levi quietly.

Armin’s expression softened. “Of course…of course you do. I’m so stupid. Anxiety makes me stupid…”

________

Armin and Levi entered the Emergency Department of Scarborough Centenary Hospital at seven-forty. Armin, now with a pronounced limp, made his way straight to the admitting window, laying his health card, ID and hospital card in a neat row on the counter.

“Hi Armin,” the admitting nurse greeted him, without looking at his credentials.

“Hi, Fairouz.”

“What brings you in tonight?” the nurse brought up Armin’s lengthy chart.

“I think I have a blood clot. I’m presenting with pain in my left calf, lateral, and there is a bruise, swelling and tenderness.”

“Is there somebody with you?” the nurse asked.

“Yes. My friend, Levi.”

“Okay my dear, have a seat.”

“Who is the attending doctor tonight?”

“Doctor Pollard.”

“Good,” Armin nodded. “She’s very thorough…”

Armin accepted the paper bracelet Fairouz offered him and took a seat in a lucite chair with a vinyl cushion.

“These are excruciating,” he grumbled to Levi. Unless you brace yourself, you slide onto the floor…”

“Let me see?” Levi asked. Armin pulled up the leg of his cargo pants. A welt the width of a mango blotched his calf. Levi laid a hand on it. Hot. He frowned. Touched the back of his hand to Armin’s forehead.

“What?” Armin grasped his wrist like a vice, panicked.

“It’s okay,” Levi soothed. He put his arm around Armin, instinctively.

__________

“What d’you call this, Mister?” Joan sounded cross.

When Armin had emerged from the consultation, Levi had handed him his phone. Armin had taken it, puzzled.

“Mum,” Armin breathed.

“Your mate Levi called Annie and Maudie, and they rang me,” Joan continued. “I do not like hearing that my son is in hospital while I’ve been sat here with Taffy watching Coronation Street.”

“Sorry, mum, honestly. I’ve just finished up. I didn’t want to worry you, not until I knew what it was…”

Joan paused, her tone softening. “What is it then?”

“It’s actually a small stress fracture. Only there’s some inflammation, too. Waiters can get them. I have an anti-inflammatory, and I’m getting a walking boot. I have to try and stay off it for four weeks.”

“You don’t skip ringing me again,” Joan said sternly. “You’re lucky you have this mate.”

“He’s not a mate,” Armin said, fixing Levi with a warm gaze. “He’s my date.”

“Oh, good gravy,” Joan said. “Well, whatever he is, let’s have him get you home.”

“Sorry again, mum…”

“Sorrys and trinkets,” said Joan, and hung up.

__________

Levi and Armin borrowed a wheelchair, and wheeled out of the ER. The stars were steely-bright, and the late autumn leaves rustled. The wheelchair was stopped by a series of metal posts, at the parking lot.

“I should have brought the car to the door,” Levi said. He pointed, “It’s just there. Can you manage it?”

“Sure,” said Armin. He didn’t have a blood clot. The relief washing through him was so intense his skin tingled. It was always like this afterward; relief, a couple of shaky days, and then normalcy.

He stood, managing a few steps. It had been a long night, and his leg throbbed painfully.

“Here,” Levi said. “Give me your backpack.” Armin did so, and Levi put it on. “Now, put your arms around my neck.”

With that, Levi gathered Armin up, carrying him across the asphalt. Armin rested his head on Levi’s shoulder, smiling against the man’s neck, breathing in Levi’s scent.

They reached the car. “I’m going to be okay,” Armin whispered in Levi’s ear. Levi’s unshaven cheek was rough against his own, sparking heat.

“I know that,” Levi said.

Armin kissed the rough cheek. “Thank you, Levi.”

He turned his head, finding Levi’s nose brushing his own, and then kissed Levi softly on the mouth.

Levi held Armin close, not putting him down. He tried to return the kiss with the same gentle delicacy with which it had been given, but a possessive urgency caused his lips to part and his tongue to nudge Armin’s mouth open as the kiss deepened. He moaned, tasting Armin for the first time.

Levi would later discount that kiss; it was something he had stolen from a tired and injured young man; to him, their first true kiss at equal strength happened some weeks later, on the way home from the Caledonia Club.

Armin saw things differently. Within the span of weeks, he’d gone from noticing Levi - a dark and enigmatic man who drank tea like a cricket - to being carried across a car park, tired and vulnerable, held in Levi's strong arms and then kissed in a manner that gave no room for misinterpretation: Levi craved him, body and soul. It was, to Armin, their first and forever kiss.


	13. Chapter 13

**SUMMER 2017. THE DAY OF THE BREAKUP.**

_I’m not entirely gone_ , Levi tells himself, _until I move away from this brick wall and stop staring at our apartment._

Then: _Yes, I am gone…I’ve torn something inside of him...and he'll never trust me again..._

He lifts his knee, using his foot to push himself off of the wall. Stands in the street, so off-balance that he fears the sidewalk will rise up and smack him in the face. Turns finally, to go and fetch his car from the car park.

As soon as Levi sits in the driver’s seat, his throat burns with bile. He fumbles with his key, unable to insert it into the ignition. “C’mon!” he hisses.

He starts the car, exits the car park and makes a right, then another right. He’s once again on the street facing their apartment, the bakery to his left. Then, as the great cosmic jest would have it, a car pulls out of one of the coveted parking spots on the sidestreet and drives away. Levi jerks the wheel, pulls into the vacant space and turns off the car.

He tells himself that he needs to see some evidence that Armin is okay, and if he doesn't, he will go back inside. He feels cocooned, hunched in the driver’s seat of the battered Saturn, peering out across Danforth Avenue. The street teems with early afternoon activity: the bus disgorging a wad of people onto the sidewalk; a cyclist narrowly missing a poodle and being lambasted in Greek for her carelessness, an outdoor BBQ station being set up at the Souvlaki restaurant.

 _It's going to work out_ , Levi intones to himself. _It’s going to be a bright, beautiful world for him…full of promise and possibility…he’s only twenty-four years old…this is just the beginning of…_

Mayhem. The squeal of tires, a horn blaring and more Greek shouting as a white van cuts off two cars, screeches to a halt and pulls up onto the sidewalk in front of the apartment. _Algonquin Cabinets_ , is lettered on the side of the vehicle.

Levi sighs. Oh, perfect. Jean Kirschstein, charging to the rescue. The driver’s door flies open and Levi watches Jean hop out, yank open the van’s rear door and plunk some pylons around the van. He then leans on the apartment doorbell while simultaneously hollering up at the second-floor window.

Someone buzzes Jean inside. Pedestrians eye the van curiously, giving it a wide berth.

__________

Levi’s phone buzzes. It’s Annie texting. _Where are u? Are u ok?_

He exhales. Contemplates ignoring the text. Finally, he thumbs: _In the car. Parked._

She sends him a sad emoji-face. _Oh no...oh Levi. You did it._

He stares dumbly at the emoji. Debates calling her. _Yes. I left._ His thumb hovers over the send button. He drops the phone onto the passenger seat, feeling sick.

He looks up, and there’s Armin. He’s come outside, sporting a massive hoodie that Bert left at their place a year ago, despite the heat. Beneath the hood, his face is pasty-pale. He’s wearing the Ray-bans he found at the laundromat.

Eren and Mikasa are on either side of him, like bodyguards shielding a waif starlet from his own excesses. Jean brings up the rear, jabbering on his phone and pausing to light a smoke.

It’s nearly one in the afternoon; Levi figures they’re going to Abruzzi to get a pizza.

He picks up the phone again. Deletes the words, _Yes. I left._ Calls Annie.

__________

**AUTUMIN 2015, DURING THEIR FIRST MONTH TOGETHER**

“Death?” Jean looked at Mikasa, puzzled.

“Yes.” Mikasa replied.

“It’s Death,” Jean repeated, confused. “I dealt him the Death card…but instead, he decimated _my_ army! I don’t get it.”

The group of friends had gathered at the post-war, store-top apartment inhabited by Connie, Sasha and Eren. Avid gamers, they were providing feedback to Mikasa, who had designed a new online game which was in beta-stage development.

“Remember, in _Tarotscape_ , the Death card is not literal death,” Mikasa paused the game. “Death often represents a paradigm shift. A complete obliteration of what was, in order that something else can take it’s place.”

“That’s too abstract,” Jean complained.

“It’s not too abstract,” Armin spoke up, “It’s cooler this way. You dealt Connie the Death card and as a result, his weak, shitty-ass army reversed it’s capabilities and you got toasted. It was like…the death of Connie’s bad generalship, not the death of _him_.”

“Exactly,” said Mikasa. You only want to deal another player the Death card when a reversal of their core traits, will somehow benefit you.”

“That’s fucked,” Jean snorted. “Death is death.”

Connie laughed, “I just destroyed your ass…”

"The point of the game," Mikasa continued, "is that the cards have discoverable meanings - and the cards also influence other cards. For example, if you deal the Lovers and the Moon cards together, the lovers are probably ill-fated.

“Are there sex scenes?” Jean wanted to know.

“I don’t know yet,” Mikasa replied perfunctorily.

Jean grinned. “Can I audition for green screen, if there are?”

“The graphics in the purgatory level are gorgeous,” Sasha commented, reaching for a third piece of Abruzzi pizza.

Mikasa leaned back in her chair. “Thank you.”

“That level does look awesome,” Jean conceded.

“Thanks.”

“What’s it called again?”

“ _Tarotscape_ ,” Mikasa repeated. “I feel like I’ve been in beta with it forever.”

“Why can’t Death be death, though?” Jean persisted.

“I mean, I could create seventy-two literally-themed cards,” Mikasa cut a slice of pizza in half, “But like…this game is not about memorizing levels, it’s more about learning what the cards will do, alone and paired together. It’s not like ordinary quest games…where you know that on level sixteen the blind man has healing elixir and the sewers lead nowhere. It’s about deciding when to play the cards you have."

“I think it’s genius,” Levi said quietly.

Armin smiled softly.

Jean looked at Armin’s new, older boyfriend for a long moment. “Don’t get me wrong,” Jean stood, going into the kitchen for a beer. “It’s a fucking great idea. But will thirteen-year-olds be able to figure out that the cards aren’t literal?”

“You’d be surprised,” Levi said.

Jean pointed at Connie. “Scooter. Beer?”

“Yeah, hit me.”

“Perhaps,” Mikasa mused, "the cards should have a mouse-over reminder for meaning?"

“No!” interjected Armin. “No way! You have to _earn_ your understanding of the cards? Right?” Armin looked at Levi.

Levi rose, and began clearing plates and glasses. “We’re listening…”

“Look at it this way…” Armin began.

Levi retreated into the galley kitchen, tidying up.

“Dude,” Connie called to him, “You don’t have to clean…just leave it…”

Levi smiled to himself, listening to Armin’s voice rise in pitch excitedly as he warmed to his subject. He squirted a stream of blue dishsoap into the sink.

__________

Some time later, Mikasa put her tablet into her bag. Connie and Jean were out on the fire escape, hooting at something down below. In the kitchen, Armin was sitting on Levi’s lap at the table. Levi was talking to him quietly, lips against Armin’s temple, applying soft kisses. Armin was deliciously pink from head to toe, smiling delightedly.

“Ah,” Mikasa said, “Sorry to intrude…”

“You aren’t intruding at all,” Levi said, not taking his eyes off Armin. He brushed a blond strand from Armin’s forehead, “I was just enjoying this guy.”

“Well,” Mikasa continued, “Thank you for all your notes today. Your comments were actually really insightful.”

“Insightful, for an old guy that plays boxed board games and butchers crosswords?” Levi teased.

“No! Because you are not as immersed in online gaming as we are…you’re showing me what it’s like for a new, but highly intelligent player to interact with the game. I don’t want it to be prohibitive.”

“It isn’t prohibitive. It’s about calculating risk and outcome. The cards are not actually capricious; they’re systemic, each is affected by the others. Like organs in the body.

“Death should still mean death,” Jean sauntered into the kitchen. “Just because I want finality with that card, doesn’t make me an idiot.”

Jean stared pointedly at Levi. Levi stared back.

“Um….Levi, we have to get going,” Armin slid off of Levi’s lap. “It’s half-four.”

“Four-thirty,” Jean corrected him.

__________

“Movie?” Connie suggested, after Armin and Levi had left. “You guys don’t have to leave yet.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jean settled into the couch.

“You shouldn’t live by yourself, Jean.” said Sasha. “You need to be around other people.”

“Aww, Sash,” Jean grinned, “D'you think I’m lonely?”

“Kind of.” Sasha looked at her girlfriend, Mikasa. “I think that you are. Mikasa doesn’t get lonely when she’s on her own. She needs…alone time. Thinking time. Creative time. I don’t take that personally…I just know her.”

“I’m not lonely,” said Jean. "Besides, I live above the shop, rent-free. That’s a pretty sweet fuckin’ deal.”

“If you’re not lonely,” Eren sat down, carefully removing his prosthetic with a sigh of relief. “Ahh. Damn. Is this what it feels like to take a bra off?”

“I dunno, ask Jean,” Sasha snickered.

“If you’re not lonely,” Eren picked up his train of thought, “then why are you so bitchy to Armin and Levi?”

“I’m not bitchy,” Jean put his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m just real.”

“No, Eren corrected, “You’ve been kind of a dick to Armin. Which is shitty to do to someone you’re so close to…”

Jean pulled a small pouch out of his jacket and unrolled it on the coffee table. He grabbed one of Connie’s old textbooks and began delicately shredding weed into a small mound. “Don’t start,” he told Eren.

“Yes, don’t either of you start,” Mikasa said.

“No, seriously,” Eren rubbed at his stump, glad that a joint was in the offing. “What gives?”

“I can’t believe you of all people are okay with this,” Jean told Eren.

“I like Levi,” said Eren. “He’s just a serious, flat-spoken dude. But he’s okay.”

Jean pulled out a rolling paper, nesting it between two long fingers. He looked at Mikasa. “What about you, Mama Hen?”

“All you see is someone much older,” Mikasa said. “But I observe how Levi treats Armin. He never speaks over him in social situations. He doesn’t condescend. He doesn’t contradict Armin. Armin never looks at him for validation, and nor should he. But Levi is always touching Armin…holding his hand, rubbing his back. Showing affection. Reassurance. Armin is relaxed. He’s happy.”

“Pfft.” Jean rolled a tidy joint, stuffing a cardboard filter into one end.

“I think Levi intimidates you,” Eren said. “You’re used to being the alpha dog around here, and Levi’s way street-smart. Moreso than you.”

Jean lit the joint, taking a drag before handing it off to Mikasa. He tilted his head back, releasing a long, slow smoke stream at the ceiling. “Yeah, he said sarcastically.”That’s it. I’m the alpha dog. What a stupid fucking thing to say. And how d'you think Levi got so street-smart?”

Jean regarded Eren. “You ever see that bird tat on Levi’s shoulder?”

“No.”

“Well, he has one.”

“So?”

Jean took a pull on his beer. “That,” he said, “is a prison tattoo. It’s a gang tat.”

Connie let out a guffaw, spewing smoke and coughing. “Fuck off!” He blinked at Jean. Then: “Oh. You’re serious…”

Jean peeled at the label on his beer bottle. “Did I stutter?”

Mikasa frowned.

“I’m telling you,” Jean looked at each of his friends seriously, “that guy’s an ex-con.”

__________

**SUMMER 2017. THE DAY OF THE BREAKUP.**

“Annie,” Levi says her name.

“Levi…oh, Levi. Where are you now?”

“I’m…” he stops. Looks around the interior of the car. Feels his throat tighten like it's caught in a vise.

“It’s okay,” Annie soothes.

He closes his eyes, tears seeping through the black lashes.

“Levi, it’s okay,” Annie repeats. “I’m here.”

He grits his teeth, trembling.

“Levi, do you want me and mum to come get you?”

“No,” he manages. “No. I’ll call you back in ten minutes or so.” He hangs up.

He should drive away. He doesn’t. He sees the little group returning, walking along the sidewalk. Mikasa’s head disappears for a minute as she bends down to say hello to a dog.

Eren is carrying two extra large pizzas. Armin walks beside Jean, hunched.

A taxi pulls up behind them, and slows. Sasha and Connie pop out of the cab. Connie steps onto the sidewalk carrying Eren’s standard prosthetic, which he lobs at Eren.

Eren twirls, performing a stunningly ugly ballet turn on his blade. He stretches like taffy and catches the leg while simultaneously balancing the pizza boxes.

Sasha shrieks with laughter. Armin manages a wan smile.

It begins to rain; fat, deliberate summer drops that splat like clown tears onto the hot concrete. The little group rushes to the door, hustling inside. All except for Armin, who stands still, looking lost, then begins to walk in a small circle, arms crossed tightly across his middle.

“Oh…” Levi leans forward, hand pressed against the windshield, aghast. “Armin…”

Jean is with Armin, and with no preamble at all, wraps Armin in a tight hug. He pulls off the hood, dropping his face onto the top of Armin’s head.

Tears run down Levi’s pale cheeks. “That will do,” he says softly, dropping his hand. “It’s not quite right, but it will do…”

__________

Seven minutes later, once the small party is inside and the rain pours down in earnest, the text comes. It’s from Jean:

_You gutless, worthless little shit stain. You fucking trash. Fuck off and die._

Levi nods, sitting quietly. He feels Jean’s protective rage, tangible as ozone. Numbly, he starts the ignition, signals, and pulls out, leaving Danforth Avenue.


	14. Chapter 14

**SUMMER 2017. THE DAY OF THE BREAKUP, LATE AFTERNOON.**

Annie embraced Levi. She felt small and bony in his arms, and smelled of sandalwood. She’d been crying, and began afresh when he hugged her.

“Oh, Levi…are you sure about this?”

She stepped back, swiping at her eyes. ”I’m sorry. What a shitty, useless thing to say…I know how hard this is…”

Annie’s mother Maudie was in the backyard. The Leonhardts had a small patch of grass, and a brick patio with a barbecue and garden table. The rest of the yard was occupied by an army of stone figures; gargoyles, dolphins, pissing cherubs, lions…the products of Harnoy Leonhardt’s work as a stone crafter.

“Mum, put the kettle on,” said Annie.

“ _You_ put the kettle on, Missy…” Maudie jerked her head toward the kitchen. She had her hair in rollers, packed under a flowered scarf. “Levi, sit, love.”

Levi pulled out a chair, sitting gingerly, belly in knots. He gazed at the stone figures; frozen in time by Medusa. All of the little cherubs had noses like Armin’s.

“I’ve not said owt to Joan,” Maudie measured Levi carefully. “But we’ve got to sort it now, she’s rung twice…”

“I know,” Levi whispered, tongue thick as a sock.

“Oh, Levi,” Maudie shifted her bulk in the garden chair, “Why on God’s earth do you think Armin is better off without you? This is a mistake.”

“Mum!” Annie gasped from the doorway, “Don’t!”

“Who are we helping if we mince words?” Maudie shook her head, “Haven’t the pair of you learned anything after coming to grips with cancer?”

“I’m sorry about her, Levi,” Annie glared, apologizing for her mother.

“No,” Levi raised his head, “I’m sorry. Putting everybody through this.” He took out his phone.

“Mum, let’s go make the tea and some sandwiches.”

Maudie made no move to get up. “ _Mother._ Help me make the tea!”

Maudie sighed, rising stiffly. “Aye…”

Levi stared at a stone unicorn, rearing up overtop of a squat gnome. The rain had subsided. The summer afternoon buzzed with cicadas, and the cheery tune of an ice-cream truck. He thumbed through his phone. Put in his earpiece.

The phone rang, and then Joan answered.

“Levi…”

He was unable to speak.

“Levi, love. Eren rang me.” Levi shut his eyes, filled with remorse. “Joan…”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d really go through with it,” her voice wavered. “Oh, my dear…”

He’d come to her, a couple of weeks prior, sitting in her sunroom and outlining, in shaky breaths, all of the reasons he felt that _maybe_ , he and Armin should part ways…he’d needed her to know.

“I wanted to reach you before anyone else did but I just…” he stopped. She’d begun to weep; stoic Joan, whom he respected more than anyone else. It threw him into a panic.

“ _I’m so sorry!!_ What kind of a life…” Levi stifled a sob, “What kind of life would he have had, with an ex-convict?…We can’t travel, we can’t adopt…I can't get financing…I don’t want that for him! In addition, I could be dead in ten years’ time…then he’d be alone, just like….”

“…just like me,” Joan finished quietly.

Levi had no more strength left, and now he’d hurt Joan as well. He laid his head on the table and sobbed.

Annie took the phone away, hanging it up.

**SUMMER 2017. THREE DAYS BEFORE THE BREAKUP.**

They had argued. That in itself wasn’t unusual; but Armin’s adamance and Levi’s distance had created a new dynamic that Levi wouldn’t correct, and Armin couldn’t fathom.

The dispute had been over a set of woodworking tools that Levi had brought home. The tools, each with a hardwood handle and a copper-inset ferrule, were rolled up in a pocketed leather pouch.

Armin had touched the pouch with a finger, finding it butter soft. “It’s beautiful,” he’d concurred, “but you need to take it back, Levi.”

“Why?” Levi had leaned forward on his elbows at the kitchen table, face close to Armin’s. “These are for Jean, for passing his apprenticeship. They’re from me, and it’s not your problem.”

Armin had sat back in his chair, staring pointedly at Levi. “Not my… _problem_?" he said slowly. “Okay…that’s a bit harsh.”

“Jean and I don’t see eye-to-eye. We may never. But he loves you. It’s not easy to find a friend so loyal…so absolute…”

“I don’t want you to spend four-hundred dollars on a congratulatory gift. It’s mad. C’mon. It’s also playing favourites and it’s showing off, and a whole shit stew of other things.”

Levi had poured himself a cup of tea, lifting the teacup by the rim carefully. “I got the set cheap. At an auction.”

Armin had crossed his arms, piqued. “That,” he’d remarked crisply, “is an unsanitary way to drink a cup of tea. I don’t know why you do that.”

Levi had placed the cup back onto it’s saucer, and stood up slowly. “Now who is being harsh?” he’d asked quietly.

He’d shrugged into his jacket, and pulled on his boots. He’d picked up the tool set, placing it into a plastic carrier bag.

“Are you taking it back?” Armin had asked.

“No. I’m taking it to Jean.”

“Well. Don’t blame me when you can’t pay your health insurance!”

Levi had left without a word.

“Asshole!” Armin had barked at the closed door.

__________

Armin was shaking as he cleared away the breakfast things. He was in the right. They were his friends. Levi favouring Jean of all people was…well, weird. Armin had been trying to create a household budget for them; one which included comprehensive insurance. It covered the expensive prescriptions which they both relied on. And there simply wasn’t money for lavish gifts. He sighed. Discussing such matters with Levi had been like pulling teeth.

He went to Joan’s, enduring a peppering of questions and remarks…Why was he in a mood? Was everything alright? What had happened?

“Mum, leave it.”

“Where is Levi? I thought he was coming with you to do the weeding?”

“Levi bought Jean a four-hundred-dollar set of woodworking tools for completing his apprenticeship, without even asking me about it. It’s weird, and Jean will think it’s weird, and we’ll be right back to tension and stand-offs between them all the fucking time. Levi can’t see that it’s a strange thing to do.”

“Sweetheart….”

“Levi doesn’t really have many friends, mum. He’s got some in Montreal, and Annie. but not…you know.”

“You don’t want him ostracized.”

“I don’t understand some of the things he’s doing right now, that’s all.” Armin stared out of the kitchen window.

Joan picked up the plant sprayer, misting her spider plants. They were dog-eared and ratty, but she’d given up trying to discourage Taffy from chewing on them. A heavy ache settled in her belly. She snuck a look at her son, staring out of the window, his sweet features taut with apprehension.

__________

 _On a night like this,_ Levi told himself numbly, _they will go for walks on the Danforth. They will meet their friends and sit on patios strung with lights. Armin’s lover will chat with them, in depth, in the vernacular of their own age group. He’ll be intelligent and steady…maybe he’s Asian or Spanish or from a small town. It doesn’t matter. They’ll have their whole lives ahead of them._

He continued walking, past Othello, locked up and dark except for the magnificent glow of the pastry case, cherries winking like gems atop the cupcakes. Beside it, Pang, patio chairs neatly stacked and tables chained.

_They will sit out on the fire escape on nights like this, too hot to sleep, sharing a beer._

He turned the key, opened the downstairs door and began to climb the stairs. His heart thudded in his chest, and he stopped, clutching the rail. How utterly, breathlessly selfish he had been. Stealing two years from this sweet soul, trying to convince himself that puzzle pieces so misaligned could ever form a cohesive whole.

_They will argue, but it will be over petty things like how to load the dishwasher. They will debate issues of greater import calmly, such as which preschool to choose, or how to finance a business. Armin’s husband might even be a year or so younger, still working on a degree. He’ll wear eyeglasses and t-shirts from Sasha’s boutique. He’ll allow the cat onto the table, something Levi himself could never countenance._

It will be okay. This is the life waiting for you, Armin.

A light had been left on in the living room; Levi wondered if it was a peace offering. _It won’t matter…there are only a few minutes of peace left._ He has to piss. He debated undressing and decided against it; he’ll probably have to leave.

He stood in the bathroom, trying to pee.

_Armin spends the next few years in and out of therapy…he is gaunt and lost and skinny. He’s picked and scratched at some imaginary disease until his skin is scarred._

_NO! That is not what the future holds._

_How do you know?_

Levi slumped against the wall. Pissed, and flushed. Washed his hands, scrubbing madly and shaking.

NO. Joan won’t let that happen; neither will his friends. Neither will Dan-Dan Pang. Armin has community. And he is so beautiful and so stupidly bright, it won’t take long for him to find someone to make him happy again.

Levi padded into the bedroom.

“I’m sorry…” A soft, sleepy, voice, bled of anger. “Levi…”

Levi sat on the bed, with the intention of rousing Armin, and asking him to come into the living room. Armin however was naked, showered, and crawling into his lap.

 _Sorry._ Why is Armin apologizing? For…oh, God. For a stupid spat over a set of tools. That, to Armin, was the biggest crisis of the day.

“Levi,” he nuzzled against Levi’s neck. Reflexively, Levi’s arms tightened around the pale body. “Levi, sorry…” He felt Armin’s lips against his face, against his temple…kissing him softly on the mouth.

“Armin,” it’s so hoarse that it’s barely a word.

“Shhhh,” Armin’s fingers brushed his cheek, stroking his hair. Armin rearranged himself, straddling Levi’s lap, pressing himself close, arms around Levi’s neck and his head on Levi’s shoulder.

Levi paused for a beat; _now is the time to turn on the bedside light and hand Armin a robe; flimsy proof against the utter devastation he’s about to cause when Armin is at his most vulnerable._ And then, it was that simple: he’s not going to do it. Not now. Not with Armin like this.

Armin’s scent filled his nostrils. He placed his nose against Armin’s neck, inhaling the warm musk. The idea of that scent imprinting on another person was anathema to Levi; Armin was his baby, his love…his hands slid down Armin’s back, slowly cupping the round buttocks. He squeezed taut flesh, released and tickled the smooth skin with his fingertips, then squeezed again.

Armin moaned against his neck, assuming Levi’s hands were communicating reassurance and reunion.

“You like that,” Levi rasped. He squeezed his eyes shut, aghast at his own derailment.

“Mmmm…”

He shifted, body aching treacherously. Armin lifted his head; his features limned in the glow from the streetlight. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated. He parted his lips, rasping the very tip of his tongue against Levi’s lips.

“Fuck,” Levi whispered. If this is going to happen, he needs his thoughts to be high in the light…this needs to be the last bittersweet joining; the culmination of all that was right and good between them.

It wasn’t unfolding that way however; his cock strained against his jeans and he burned with every impure, lusty, delicious thought he’d ever had about Armin: his sweet, rounded ass, babyish tummy, pale, dishevelled hair. How easy it had been to make him come the first time. How much fun it was to caress his balls under the dinner table at parties. How he’d never been fucked before. And how thoroughly Levi had since made up for the lack.

His distress blurred into a haze of arousal. Levi parted his lips, the tip of his tongue rasping against Armin’s. It was not yet a kiss; tongues flicking softly together, rubbing and then swirling slowly, the distance between their faces closing until Armin’s mouth was on his, hard and messy.

Levi capitulated; he knew where this was heading, and what it would take to stay the course.

Armin was tugging at the button fly of his jeans. Levi stood up, Armin’s legs wrapping around his hips, and staggered into the bathroom. He stepped into the shower, nearly dropping Armin in the process. Armin fumbled for the taps, turning them on, soaking Levi, fully clothed, and himself.

“I need you…”

Levi’s heart breaks. “I know.”

__________

Armin kneels on the bed, hands gripping the spool headboard, forehead on his hands. He inhales, tension finally unravelling. Everything is as it should be. His hair is damp, skin shivers as a stray breeze wafts through the open window.

Levi kneels behind Armin, embracing him. He brushes the long hair to one side, lips finding Armin’s nape, kissing and sucking at the tender spots. The flat of Levi’s hand grazes the hard pink nipple, fingers brushing the fine hair dusting Armin’s chest.

Levi is inside of him.

It’s so hard not to move; Armin turns his head, ruddy lips parted. Levi’s mouth brushes his; a whisper of a kiss. Levi’s hands move down, gripping the jutting hip bones. Armin whimpers in anticipation.

“Move,” Armin’s voice cracks.

Levi rocks his hips forward, teasing. Armin squirms, the shooting pleasure makes him gasp.

Levi’s fingers tighten, and he thrusts slowly. “ _Oh. God. Fuck…_ ” Armin lifts his head off of his hands, arching back, until his head lands on Levi’s shoulder.

Levi stops moving. Armin breathes, savouring the ache radiating from his ass to his cock. He flexes his buttocks, pleased at the throaty sound Levi makes.

Levi reaches for the lube, two fingers in the jar. “Still okay baby?” he lips brush against Armin’s ear.

“Yeah,” Armin breathes. “It’s so wet…it’s good…”

Levi’s damp fingers cup Armin’s balls, full and plump. He massages them slowly, drawing whimpers. His other hand travels up, resting lightly on Armin’s throat. He feels the pulse that throbs there.

He resumes thrusting, his hips slapping against Armin's ass

Taking a chance, he drags a finger slowly, the length of Armin’s cock.

“No,” Armin gasps, “Not yet…”

Levi smiles in the darkness. Armin’s legs tremble, his ass twitches, his back is pebbled with gooseflesh. Levi tugs on Armin's hair and Armin arches his back, raising his bottom a little.

Levi wraps an arm around the boy’s middle, pleased with the new angle of penetration, and begins to rock.

Armin whines as Levi’s slick, hard cock nudges his prostate. “Oh…oh, fuck….oh, fuck….”

“Right there?” Levi whispers.

“Y-yes…”

Levi keeps rocking, holding Armin still as he squirms with pleasure.

“I’m going to fuck you harder now…”

Levi’s hips snap, his momentum increasing. The pleasure burns, deep in his groin, rolling outward.

“Make me cum…” Armin pants, “make me cum…”

Levi’s fingers encircle Armin’s cock and he strokes roughly, not stopping until Armin sobs, spurting against the bed frame, soaking Levi’s hand.

Levi grips Armin’s hips hard enough to bruise, thrusting slow and deep, allowing Armin’s trembling heat to pull him over the edge. He comes, his cry a sharp stab in the dark.

__________

A soft, post-coital melancholy settles over Levi and Armin, as they curl, entwined. Armin shifts, eyes open in the dark. The bliss recedes, leaving dread in its wake. Sensing his unease, Levi pulls him close, murmuring.

“I love you,” Armin whispers. The words echo, unanswered.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flagging this chapter for transphobic content and institutional violence. Proceed with self-care in mind xo

**LATE NOVEMBER 2015. ARMIN AND LEVI HAVE BEEN DATING FOR A FEW WEEKS.**

Armin awoke with a start; a bizarre sound was emanating from his bedside table. He closed his eyes and snickered. He’d recorded Taffy making hunting noises through the window at the squirrels. _Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-p_ …This was, for the time being, his ringtone.

Without raising his head, he pulled the phone closer to his face. Levi. He tapped the display.

“Mmmm?”

“Armin. I’ve woken you.”

“Hmm. No. It’s okay, I have to get up, I’m opening _Othello_ today.

“Are you free tonight?”

Armin rolled over. Taffy sat on his dresser, yellow eyes wide with alarm at the territorial mewling of Armin’s phone.

Armin giggled. “Taffy…aww, Boo…I’m sorry…”

“Armin?”

“I made Taffy’s meow my ringtone. You know, that _m-a-a-a-a-a-p_ cat noise that sounds like a baby sheep? And now he thinks it’s another cat…”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

Armin blinked. Sat up. “What?”

“Can we get together after your shift?”

“Why?” Armin was fully awake now. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you sick?”

“I’m well.” A pause. “I shouldn’t have brought this up first thing in the morning. Now you’ll worry all day.”

“Well _yeah_ , Levi,” Armin’s throat tightened. “Is…is this something bad?”

Levi hesitated. Then, “I have some things to share with you…please, nothing has changed since yesterday. I’ll see you at _Othello_.”

“Okay…just…Levi…” Armin looked around his room, swallowed. “Never mind…I’ll see you soon.”

Levi hung up the phone. Stared at it. His lock screen was a picture that he’d taken of Armin, leaning on the coffee bar at _Othello_ , reading the paper, hair skewered with a chopstick.

Levi had filtered it into a black-and-white, grainy image. It was timeless, arty and urbane; something out of the pages of The New Yorker. He touched the image. He’d chosen it, because it conveyed perfectly Armin’s feckless, silly, sweet energy. He’d lacked the courage to chose a picture of the two of them together, or a closeup; that would either come later, or it wouldn’t. Armin would either accept what Levi had to tell him today, or he wouldn’t.

____________________

Evening.

She stared at the weasel. The weasel stared back; fierce, glassy-eyed and forever dead.

Charlotte Smith lived in an apartment above a taxidermy shop. The row of storefronts, with apartments atop was built near the lakefront. The upper units had charming peaked roofs and walk-out decks with wooden railings; part of a decades-long initiative to gentrify the Port District.

The developers, Charlee was fairly certain, had been counting on cute artisan businesses to occupy the storefronts: designers of hemp clothing, fair trade coffee shops serving lavender scones, pottery and stained glass classes.

However, owing to the intermittent reek emanating from a meat-packing plant across the bay, the cutesy vibe had failed to materialize, and the row of shops was instead home to an off-track betting counter, an anonymous warehousing business, and the taxidermy shop.

Whenever Charlee ventured outside, she was greeted by the frozen grimaces of a squatting cat, a sloe-eyed, stoned-looking beaver gnawing eternally on a branch, and the weasel.

The weasel, Charlee decided, had gone out in a blaze of glory; fierce and free. It had all of the bravado and defiance that Charlee herself had once had, before it had been beaten and leached out of her by institutions.

On one of her daily outings (always the same: to the corner, buy almond milk, a few groceries, the paper, cigarettes, cross at same crosswalk, keys in the same pocket) she’d encountered the taxidermist; a fleshy Romanian called Ivan, who was kind enough.

“Nice weasel,” she’d commented, nodding at the fierce little warrior in the shop window.

Ivan had smiled. A few days later, she’d found the weasel, propped against her apartment door, with a note around it’s neck, scribed in broken English with felt-tipped pen: ‘ _Sharlot. Wezel for you.’_

 _Sharlot_. She smiled, remembering.

She’d scooped up the weasel, taken it inside and given it a place of honour on her mantelpiece.

Now she sat, as the autumn afternoon extinguished itself, in her apartment, alone. She was impeccably made up, purse on the table in front of her, sitting upright, tendrils of smoke from her cigarette escaping out onto the landing.

She rehearsed the steps to herself, again: _He will arrive. We will get into his car, a dark blue Saturn. We’ll drive north, and then east, to the Danforth. We’ll park, and go to Pang for dinner. The restaurant is small, we’ll sit beside a wall, because that feels safer. If it doesn’t feel safe, he will bring me back._

Charlee smoothed her skirt. She touched the scarf around her neck. She’d been unable to decide whether or not to wear it. She removed it.

“It’s fine,” she told the weasel. “I’m fine.”

She stubbed out the cigarette, opened her purse and extracted a compact. She opened it, examining her face; the careful eyeliner, impeccable brows, soft lips. She swallowed, and the Adam’s apple in her throat bobbed.

Charlee shut her eyes. She had lived in the vicinity since her release, six years ago. Last month, she’d moved into the two-bedroom above the taxidermist, from her former apartment across the street. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew her. Here, she was safe. In a strange restaurant, there would be whispers, and leering. Realization would dawn, and then gossip. _I think that’s a tranny._

Not she. That.

Her hands shook as she replaced the compact in her purse and snapped the clasp shut.

She looked at the weasel again. _Why didn’t I die like you did, when I was still fierce and strong and unbroken?_

_____________________

“Are you ready?” Levi stood in the doorway of Charlee’s apartment.

“No,” she replied shakily. Then, “What the hell are those?”

“Gladiola stems,” said Levi, “Pink ones.”

Charlee snorted. “You didn’t need to do that.”

He stepped inside, placing the flowers on a side table. Held out a hand.

Charlee drew closer. She could smell his scent now. It triggered safety, and something inside of her unwound. She exhaled, accepting the hand and leaning into his embrace.

Levi’s arms tightened.

“Don’t fuck up my hair,” she breathed.

He laughed.

“Soon,” he said, “We’ll all be together again. You, me, Enoch and Farlan…”

“We aren’t supposed to be,” Charlee disengaged, reaching for her coat. “Fraternization with known associates. It’s a parole violation.”

“You’ve been pardoned. I’m no longer a parolee. The outreach program is going to have me sponsor Farlan. Life can go on, Charlotte. It has to,” he took her shoulders, looking into her eyes.

____________________

Armin enjoyed the eye of the storm at _Pang_. Between three and five o'clock, the restaurant closed and prepared for the transition from lunch to dinner service. The tabletops – left as bare wood with bamboo placemats for the lunch crowd – were dressed in white linen, and dotted with wine glasses which glowed in the pared-down light from Malaysian lanterns.

The gas stove ticked and twitched; Eren’s knife could be heard, staccato, slicing through lengths of bok choy and water chestnut.

Eren would leave scraps on the service counter for the wait staff; herb buns which were too misshapen to serve, broken spring rolls, satay with a bit of scorch at one end.

With only a couple of patrons lounging about at _Othello_ , Armin wandered through the adjoining door into _Pang,_ scooping up a reject dumpling as he glided past Eren.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Annie was in the dining room, with Bertie, whom Armin had dubbed ‘Lurch’.

He was about to greet them, when he caught strains of their conversation.

Bert held a tray containing all the fussy little pieces that went along with an appetizer tasting.

“Don’t rush toward a table,” Annie instructed patiently. She walked backwards in front of Bert, who was doing his best to glide down the centre aisle, like a penguin on skates.

“Don’t hunch,” Annie corrected. “Full height. Shoulders back. Lower the tray slowl-…” The tray rattled alarmingly. “No, no! Don’t remove anything until you’ve lowered it. Okay. Now, elegantly. Place the items. Firm hand and arm under the tray. Gentle hand placing items…”

She laughed then; a curiously pure sound.

“Don’t rush! Remember, you’re not in trouble. You’re delivering a treat. Good feelings. Now pause. Smile. Tone. Good!”

Bertie smiled; his eyes caught the light. Annie touched his face and he nearly upended the tray.

Armin wedged the rest of the dumpling into his cheek, and quietly withdrew back through the doorway, smiling to himself.

He’d barely settled himself back behind the counter, when Annie marched through the doorway.

“Oi! Armin! I thought the rota was switching tonight?”

“Nope,” Armin pulled his hair into a messy knot, then began washing his hands at the back sink.

“Why not?” Annie glared at him. “You’ve had your walking cast off for a week now. You can, obviously, walk. Switch back with me.”

Armin looked up. Annie was decked out for evening service at _Pang_ : crisp, white shirt, black trousers, tie, service apron.

“I hate this,” she groused. “Eight hours dressed like a butler. I want my coffee bar back.”

“Two more shifts,” Armin tried to placate her. “Just until the end of the week, ok? Dr. Pollard said. Then I can go back to _Pang_ , and you can come back here.”

“Seriously, Armin.”

“Seriously, Annie,” he parroted. “Besides, you don’t totally hate it.”

“Meaning?”

Armin flashed a dimpled grin at her. “Meaning…Hi Bertie, how was your weekend Bertie…I like your scarf… _I like your scarf_ …”

“He is kind,” Annie bit the words off. “He’s lovely, actually.”

Annie strode around the counter, plucking an espresso cup and turning on the heater.

“You fancy him?” Armin asked.

“I’m not talking to you about this if you’re just going to poke fun,” she shook the cup at him, “which you are in no position to do, laddo.”

“Sorry,” Armin looked at her, blue eyes wide and fawning.

“Stop,” Annie flicked him on the nose with a raw sugar packet. “You know that face holds no water with me.”

“I saw you Annabella, just now.”

Annie shook her head. “Nobody trained him…not really. Nothing past – there are the snifters, here’s the sake heater, remove the ginger slice when you serve…”

“…And?”

“And you should have!” Annie said tartly. “You. Honestly Armin, you can be a totty little queen mincing around the floor sometimes, and I don’t mean that in a good way.”

There. His face fell.

“I…yeah. I know. Sorry. I’ll say sorry to Lurch. I let my own shit get on top of me lately…and like…” he tried not to smile, “I saw him careening around like a ship’s mast…but I just…I just let him.”

“How nice would that be if someone did it to you? You were spoiled. Dan-Dan trained you up himself.”

Annie jiggled the espresso station impatiently. The machine yawned. Shuddered. And then began to belch boiling water and coffee grounds onto the counter and then the floor.

“Fuck!” hissed Armin. He scrambled to turn it off.

“Don’t touch! Steam!” Annie kicked the cord out of the wall, but the machine continued burping brown sludge.

“Get Eren to go turn off the intake!” Armin had on an oven mitt and was gripping the outflow nozzle.

Annie rushed off.

Armin looked over the counter then. And there was Levi.

“What happened?”

“Well, something’s burst!” Armin yelped.

Levi frowned. “Can I shut the water off?”

Armin grimaced. “Eren is. Can you get Dan though?”

Levi hesitated. “I…I thought you were off tonight?”

Armin wadded up a dry tea towel and pressed it against the spigot. “Well, apparently not. You look…I don’t know. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

Armin craned to see through the door. “Well…can it keep then? Are you having…ow! Are you having dinner here?”

Levi’s face held an odd expression. “Yes…”

“Alright then, I’ll come find you later…”

The water flow stopped. Armin’s shoulders slumped. “Fuck me,” he muttered.

Dan-Dan Pang strode through the connecting doorway. “Armin Arlert!”

“Yeah…”

“What you do to my machine?”

Armin let go of the spigot cautiously. “I don’t know…”

“You too rough with it. Need to be careful. Annie would never break it…”

Armin caught Annie’s guilty expression, over Dan-Dan’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Dan. Seriously,” he said.

Dan-Dan looked around his patisserie. “Eren is calling the repair. We’ll do bodum service tonight, or carafe, use the small steamer for the milk.”

Armin looked pained. “I’ve only done bodum service maybe once before?”

“Switch with Annie, then.”

Armin sighed.

“Come in to _Pang_. I’ll get Mikasa to bus your tables for you. No heavy bins. You give her your tips.”

He turned on his heel and retreated back to _Pang_.

Well,” Annie rounded the counter. “Move it.”

She tugged at her necktie, pulled it over her head with relief.

“Thank you for not ratting me out for breaking the Simonelli,” Annie said. “We’re even for now, but you have to take better care of Bert.”

Armin kissed her cheek. “You love me,” he said cheerily.

“Brat,” Annie sighed. “Go.”

Armin went down into the staff change room, plucking a white shirt and black tie out of his locker. He washed his face, pulled his hair into a smooth ponytail, and headed up to the formal dining room.

He stopped at the kitchen service window. “Eren,” he nodded. "I'm serving tonight."

“Good,” Eren said brusquely. “We’re gonna be rammed later. Now listen…” he rattled off the specials to Armin, who nodded once, committing them to memory.

Eren looked through the service window, over Armin’s shoulder.

“Who’s that with Levi?” he asked.

Armin turned. Levi sat at a cozy table for two, by the brick wall, below a screen print of Toronto.

He was facing Armin, and his dining companion had their back to Armin. Honey brown curls, a dark camisole, bare arms, a hand on the table, which Levi was holding.

Levi was speaking to his companion, smiling, face soft and open. It was an expression Armin had thought was reserved only for him.

“Who the fuck is that?!” he exclaimed, wheeling around to look at Eren.

“Nice legs,” Eren remarked.

“Really, Eren?” Armin snorted.

“Oh, calm down…” Eren chuckled. “I’m just winding you up. Honestly…”

Armin squared his shoulders, tied his service apron on carefully and straightened his tie.

Eren placed two mango salads onto the counter. “Table seven,” he raised an eyebrow. “For them.”

Armin placed the salads onto his tray, glanced at the chit and picked up a sake service from the bar.

Holding his tray aloft with perfect precision, he sashayed toward table seven, where his boyfriend sat holding hands with a perfect stranger.

____________________

Her outfit was immaculate. Navy camisole, pencil skirt, understated pump. Loose curls. The soft nub of an Adam’s apple at the throat. Pendant. She wasn’t classically pretty; she was sensual, which was worse. Hooded, green eyes, bow-lips, and a slight gap between her front teeth.

She made no move to release Levi’s hand as Armin approached the table.

Levi reached out with his other hand, taking Armin gently by the elbow.

“Armin,” he said, “This is Charlotte Smith. I’ve known her since I was nineteen. You’ve heard of Enoch Pang, Dan-Dan’s little brother? He knows Charlee as well.

Charlee, this is my…this is Armin.”

Armin looked directly at Charlee, then. Noted the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the darting eyes, taut expression. Her hand gripping Levi’s like a vise, the moons of her nails white. A piece of cutlery hit the floor with a loud clink. She flinched.

Armin tilted his head. “Hey,” he said gently, appraising her. He poured a small, porcelain cup of sake. “Get this down you,” he smiled.

Charlee accepted the cup, knocking it back in one swig. “Thank you."

Levi’s eyes met Armin’s.

“Switch seats,” Armin motioned to them. “Let Charlee watch Eren work in the kitchen.”

Levi rose, pulling out Charlee’s chair and settling her opposite him. Armin stood beside Charlee’s chair.

“Look through there, see? That’s Eren Jaeger. He’s the chef here. He’s also one of my best friends. He’s gifted. Wait until you taste his food…”

Charlee peered down the length of the restaurant and into the open kitchen. A dark-haired young man moved about the space, precise and quick.

“He’s also an amputee,” Armin continued. “He had meningitis when we were kids and lost his leg. It took a long time for him to get used to things…but he did. And he earned a scholarship to the Academy of Culinary Arts at Reiss College. Dan-Dan Pang plucked him right out of a school open house when he was eighteen.”

The young chef, Eren, looked up then. He gestured to Armin to come and pickup an order.

“I’m going to have him make you something amazing…a Malaysian lemongrass and coconut soup. Cool?”

Charlee turned her head and regarded Levi’s very young boyfriend. Armin. He had a light accent she couldn’t quite place. Blond hair, sweet, with deep-set, inquisitive eyes.

The vise in her chest eased.

“That sounds nice,” she said quietly.

Armin nodded, heading back toward the pickup window.

“Well?” Eren raised his eyebrows.

Armin shrugged. “I don’t know, yet. Her name is Charlee. She’s struggling a little bit. Anxious, maybe upset. Can you make her that lemongrass soup, off-menu?”

“Sure,” Eren tilted his head thoughtfully. “It’s not what you thought,” he observed.

“No. It isn’t,” said Armin, “But there is something…”

Armin served soup to Levi and Charlee, then wandered next door to see Annie. _Othello_ twinkled with fairy lights, proof against the dark evening. Jazz violin played and a smart row of bodums was lined up on the coffee bar.

“Annabella,”

“Busy!”

“I need two pumpkin tarts.”

“Just a minute.” Annie filled a tray, scooting smoothly around the coffee bar and taking it to a bubbly table of theatregoers.

She returned then, taking two small plates and squirting a thin streak of maple syrup onto each. She then plated two pumpkin tarts, finishing them of with a smear of nutmeg whipped cream.

“Who’s Charlotte?” Armin asked.

“Who?”

“Charlee Smith? A friend of Levi’s?”

Annie shook her head, “Dunno. I really never see Levi with anybody. I know he has a really good friend from years back, called Erwin Smith.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“How’s Bertie doing?”

“How – I don’t know, he’s fine so far, no collisions.”

____________________

Charlee clutched the paper takeout bag of satay on her lap in the car. It was warm, but brought little comfort.

She stared out glassily at the bright lights of the Danforth; sparkling restaurants and cafes, martial arts studios, green grocers wheeling tomatoes indoors for the night.

“Well,” she said softly. “that was humiliating.”

Levi said nothing, waiting for her next thought.

“It took Armin exactly two minutes to figure out I’m a basket case. Too paralyzed to breathe, let alone eat.”

“You showed courage tonight,” Levi remarked quietly.

A short, bitter laugh. “I was rescued, from myself, by a _child_.”

Levi turned left, heading south. “Armin suffers from health anxiety,” he said. “He's very transparent about it. But self-knowledge is not enough to head off a panic attack. He knows the signs. I don’t think the average person would have known you were in distress.”

“Distress…” Charlee said dully. “We live in a world where trans people are tortured for sport. People won’t even finish reading articles about them, because it spoils their brunch.”

She ran a finger under each eye carefully, catching tears.

“I organized three of the largest rallies in Canada. Radio interviews. Podcasts. Parliament. And now,” she said, “Now, I am being congratulated for having dinner outside of my apartment without vomiting out of sheer fright. I’m awesome.”

“Stop wallowing.”

Charlee swivelled to look at Levi, mouth open in astonishment. Then, she held her breath. Then, she laughed, loud and pure, a release.

Levi took her hand, pressing it to his cheek. “Charlotte,” he said gently.

“Fuck you, Levi,” she smiled through her tears.

“I love you too, my friend.”

Levi parked and walked Charlee upstairs. She’d left a few small lights on; the weasel’s teeth gleamed out of the darkness.

Charlee tossed her purse onto the couch and sat, lighting a cigarette. She leaned back, head falling against the sofa cushions, and blew a long, slow curl of smoke toward the ceiling.

“Do you want a drink?” she asked.

“No. Thank you.”

“Sit for a minute?” Levi did, brushing crumbs off of the couch.

Charlee sat up, crossing her legs and took another long drag.

“Armin,” she said, eyes filled with concern. “He’s smart. Empathetic. Very quick-witted.”

Levi’s expression softened.

“Oh, no…” Charlee sighed. “You’re already in love with this boy. Levi, he’s _twelve_.”

“I have no need to defend the age gap,” Levi said simply.

“And I’m not attacking it,” Charlee leaned forward, flicking her cigarette into a ceramic ashtray. “But Levi,” she said. “He’s just at the beginning of...of everything. Life. Love. Travel. Family…”

“And?”

“And…so many things. Can you even get across the border yet? Any border? Have you secured a bank loan, ever?”

Levi looked down at his folded hands.

“Honey,” Charlee’s tone did not lack sympathy, “We’ve done time. That’s what people will see – first, last and always. It's different for Farlan and Eld. Their thing works because they have shared experiences. They both know. About the nightmares, the prejudice, the abuse...and how tough it is on the outside.”

Levi raised his head. His eyes burned with something deep, and unassailable.

Charlee sighed. “Just…if you’re going to do this…and I can clearly see that you are…go about it truthfully.”

Levi moved closer, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I will.”

__________

Levi sat in his car, watching Charlee’s shadow as she moved about the apartment. He looked at his phone. It was past ten, and Armin would be waiting for him.

He texted. “Hey. I’ve dropped Charlee off, I’m coming home now. I just have to make a quick call.”

He thumbed his phone, prepared to make a voice call, then changed his mind. He turned on the car lights, and opened _WhatsApp._

The video call was answered. A blond man, firm, symmetrical features, a wall of books behind him.

“Levi…”

“Erwin. Hello my friend.”

“Hello…judging by the hour, I’m guessing you haven’t called to chit-chat?”

“No. I’ve just had dinner with Charlotte.”

“Oh! Okay,” Erwin Smith nodded, his thick brows furrowing. “How is she?”

“Terrible,” Levi said bluntly. “You need to come. She needs her brother.”

“What’s going on?” Erwin shifted a little, and Levi saw Mike’s head enter the frame.

“Levi,”

“Michael.”

“Levi, go on,” Erwin prompted.

“Your sister is lost. She can’t leave the six-block radius of her apartment without anxiety. Palpitations. Nausea. Throat constricting. I thought she might rally, but she can’t. She’s barely got her head above water.”

“I’ll call her now,” Erwin’s features grew taut with concern. He turned, saying something to Mike.

“Thank you so much for calling us right away,” Erwin said.

“Sure. Check in with me tomorrow. We’ll catch up properly.” Levi disconnected the call.

____________________

Armin sat in the stillness of Levi’s apartment. He’d let himself in with the key Levi had passed to him at the conclusion of dinner.

The apartment had an exposed brick wall, facing the street, and arched windows. Armin had planted himself on the couch, knees tucked up against his chest and chin resting on his knees. Blond strands of hair peeked out from beneath the wool cap he wore.

He watched the street below, and the light which travelled up the apartment wall and across the ceiling with each passing car.

He’d been here twice; once to pick up a book, and another time when the rain had driven them indoors during an autumn walk.

Levi had lent him flannel sleep pants and a grey t-shirt to wear while his clothes had tumbled in Levi’s apartment dryer.

He’d shivered as a warm, spongy anticipation had stirred in his belly. Levi had stood in the small kitchen, head bent to the task of preparing tea, a dark lock of hair falling forward.

 _Here we go_ , Armin had thought happily.

But Levi had simply prepared the tea, sat close to Armin, and regaled him with the history of the apartment, which included a period of service as an office of the Royal Canadian Air Force during World War Two.

 _He doesn’t want you_ , Armin’s treacherous little internal voice had sneered. _You’re broken._

 _Yes, he does_ , Armin had drawn a shaky breath. _On my worst day, he held me in his arms and kissed me as though trying to sear his initials onto my tongue. So there._

Now, weeks after that hospital visit, there hadn’t been so much as a brush of lips against his cheek.

 _This is my…this is Armin,_ Levi had said as he’d introduced Armin to the chaotic energy that had been Charlee Smith.

This is my – what, though? What was he to Levi?

A click in the lock. Levi entered, dumping his keys onto a table in the hall and carefully removing his boots.

He padded directly over to Armin, who raised his head but remained curled up on the couch.

Levi knelt on the couch beside Armin, reaching out a hand. When this was not rebuffed, he laid it gently between Armin’s shoulder blades, caressing.

"How is Charlee?" Armin asked.

“Fine for the moment. How are you?”

The question had been earnestly asked and deserved more than a perfunctory response.

Armin inhaled, uncoiling himself. “I can only carry on for so long, without knowing what I am to you,” he said levelly, “and frankly, I’ve now reached that point where I have no map and I’m a bit lost. I realize that some people enjoy a bit of mystery, but I don’t. I am perfectly happy to carry on if you want to…only…I’m not a _child_. I’d hoped that you want to...you know...that you'd want me...

He gazed about, pained. He felt cherished yet simultaneously rebuffed, and it was a feeling that defied words.

“Armin?”

“Don’t say ‘we have to talk’.”

“Okay, I won’t,” Levi said gently.

Armin sat forward, peering into Levi’s face. Stubble darkened his fine chin, and shadows nested beneath his eyes.

“You look really tired,” Armin said quietly. He reached out, laid a hand gently against Levi’s chest. Inhaled his scent. “We do need to talk though, don’t we?”

Levi nodded.

“I can’t date you,” Levi said quietly. “you are a mess beyond my understanding.”

Armin gasped, crushed. “What?”

“No! No! Armin, I’m teasing you! Oh, Armin…”

“But you do think that!”

“Actually, I think the opposite. I think the world of you. You are far more than I deserve…”

“So therefore you’re breaking up with me?”

“Stop. Just, stop.”

Armin leaned back, regarding Levi warily. “Okay. I’ve stopped.”

Levi rose and went into the kitchen. He warmed up sake, and brought it into the living room. Outside, a streetcar growled by and a cold rain had begun.

Levi poured the sake, handing a cup to Armin. He took a breath, having found the starting strand to untangle his story.

“Armin. Dan-Dan will be hosting a private party at _Pang_ soon, to welcome his little brother Enoch home.”

“Yes. I’m working at the party. Enoch is coming home from Malaysia.”

“No,” Levi corrected. “Enoch is being paroled. Released from prison.”

“Oh!”

“I knew Enoch,” Levi said carefully, “Before I knew Dan-Dan.”

He took a long swallow of sake. “Charlee will also be at the party. In order for her to manage that, she needed to see where the party will be, and how to get to the restaurant…”

“…because she suffers from anxiety, too,” Armin nodded.

“Yes. She didn’t always. She was bold and defiant and outspoken. However, Charlee was also incarcerated, and there has been some lasting damage. She suffers from a form of agoraphobia. She isn’t comfortable leaving her neighbourhood, or sometimes, even her apartment.”

“Oh…” Armin fell silent. And then, the truth came abruptly into focus. “Oh!”

“And you…” he breathed, “you know both Charlee and Enoch because…because…”

“Because I served time with them.”

Levi dared to raise his head. He’d expected to see Armin’s expression harden, or to become guarded. Instead, Armin had crossed his legs and leaned forward, head cocked thoughtfully to one side.

“You have been in jail.”

“Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen. And then at nineteen I was moved into another corrective facility, for young adults who are no longer young offenders but don’t belong in an adult environment. I was released at twenty-two.”

“Twelve years ago.”

“Yes.”

Armin sat, holding his sake cup. “Can I ask you about it?”

“Of course.”

“What,” Armin looked at Levi directly “What did you do?”

“The shortest, simplest answer is that my cousin Farlan and I stole cars. The much longer story is that I chose to get myself banged up to stop some terrible things from happening.

Levi faced Armin. “Getting to know you has been an absolute pleasure. All of it. All your fucked-up shit. Your laugh. Your cheekiness. How you can transform from utterly awkward to pure grace. And I like your mother. I am hoping, that you will want to take things further with me…”

Armin’s cheeks warmed, from the sake, he supposed. “Mum isn’t sure about you, yet.”

“This new information is sure to be a colossal endorsement.”

Armin rose then, walking into the hall. Levi watched, his throat tightening apprehensively. Armin reached for his jacket. Levi’s head dropped.

However, Armin reached into his jacket pocket for his phone.

“Hi, mum…yeah. No, I’m at Levi’s. I’m just ringing to say, I’m going to stay over. Levi and I have some things to talk about and it’s raining out and I’ve had a couple of drinks.”

Armin returned to the living room. He sat beside Levi, taking both of Levi’s hands in his own.

“There,” he whispered. “We have all night now. I’m not going anywhere. I want to hear everything.”

____________________

 **TRENT PENITENTIARY** **‘B’ BLOCK**

**AUGUST, 2001**

The timing had been terrible. The new inmates had arrived the same day that Levi and Enoch were off the wing, doing a stint in solitary.

That had left Farlan Church and Eld Jinn, the big Swede, to deal with her.

She’d stood tall, accepting the bundle of blanket, toiletries, garments. When she’d been introduced to Farlan, she’d appraised him with shrewd green eyes.

“I’m Farlan,” he’d told her. “I’ll show you around.”

“I’m not staying,” her voice was resonant, soft.

Farlan had chewed on his lip. “For now,” he said, “you got to come with me.”

He’s led her through the leers, through the wolf-whistles to the dormitory that he shared with Levi, Enoch, and Eld.

“This is gonna be home for a while. Don’t go in yet. Stand here,” he instructed her. “It’s time for count.”

Farlan glanced around nervously. Turned to Eld, beside him. “Where’s the fuck is Levi?” he rasped. “He and Eazy are meant to be back by now…”

Eld shrugged, touching Farlan lightly on the arm. “Don’t worry.”

The boys stood in a row, outside of the dormitories that housed them, in pods of four.

“Eld Jinn!”

“Present!”

A guard was walking the length of the row. He was bulky, sweating.

“Farlan Church!”

“Yes, boss.”

The guard stopped. “Charles Smith,” he called out.

She stared straight ahead.

The guard faced her. “ _Charles Smith_ ,” he repeated.

“My name is not Charles. Charles is not what’s written on my intake form.” she replied.

“Last time, inmate,” the guard was in her face now. He had cruel, small piggy-eyes.

“Shit,” Farlan breathed, hands balling reflexively into fists. “Shit, shit, shit…”

“Charles….”

“Dammit, just say, hereI” Farlan hissed at her. Charlotte Smith’s eyes flicked toward him. She squared her shoulders, and remained silent.

“Boys, we got a he-she here that don’t know it’s place,” the guard declared. Then he bellowed, “Charles...Smith!”

“Charlee,” sweat beaded Farlan’s upper lip, “Please Ch – “

The fat guard swung his baton, sweeping Charlee face down onto the reeking cement floor. He ground his knee into her back.

“Charles Smith!” he growled.

“Fuck you!” she gasped.

“Oi!” a sudden soft voice commanded attention. “Boss. Can we have a word?”

Farlan slumped in relief. His cousin Levi stood in the corridor, Enoch 'Eazy' Pang behind him.

The guard ground his knee into Charlee’s back. “You’ve got it coming,” he grunted, but got off of her.

Charlee raised her head, regarding the boy who had intervened.

Dark hair, delicate features, hard as adamantine.

She got to her knees, Farlan and Eld moving to assist her. She shrugged them off.

She was taller than Levi, but the older inmate radiated a compact, unsettling energy.

“Levi,” he said to her simply, by way of introduction.

“Charlotte,” she told him. “Charlotte Smith.”

He’d nodded his head. “Farlan,” he instructed, “go scrounge some things to make Charlotte more comfortable, please.”

Levi wanted to tell Charlotte Smith to keep her head down; that she was already a target and it was sure to get worse.

However, he felt certain that she wouldn’t listen.


End file.
